


Luna Lunera

by Ibrithir



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibrithir/pseuds/Ibrithir
Summary: When Marco Rivera first became a big brother, he made a promise to always watch out for Miguel. And whether that meant helping him learn to read, taking him for ice-cream, or setting up a secret hideout where they could share their love of music, Marco’s kept that promise. Not even a strange curse from a skull-faced guitar can change that. Marco’s going to do everything he can to get him and his brother home--without agreeing to some stupid “no music” condition.But as they race against the sunrise, Marco finds himself swept up in the vibrant, music filled world they’ve landed in. And he starts to wonder if going back to a world of silence and shoes is really the best idea for them...





	1. I Sing a Secret Song to You...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So first off I'd like to say that the idea for this fic was inspired by some Marco Tumblr posts made by im-fairly-whitty, fishkinn and pencokun. They ended up taking their Marco stories different directions, and they're all awesome (seriously, you should check them all out, especially Sonance, which I'm pretty sure is posted here).
> 
> But I really liked the original idea they had to make Marco Miguel's older adopted brother, and thought "What the heck, I haven't written fanfic in a decade or so, let's see what I can do." So I hope that you enjoy what I've come up with! I should be updating once a week, either Thursday or Friday from now on, barring any unforeseen events or acts of nature.  
> The first few chapters will be Marco and Miguel backstory, setting up their bond before we get to the events of the movie.
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy the story! 
> 
> (See below for further notes)

Marco didn’t remember much about his life before Mama and Papa adopted him, when his last name had been something besides Rivera, and he’d lived somewhere besides Santa Cecilia. Which was completely understandable, as he was only three years old when it had happened. Now he was four, and had only the vaguest memories of that time--a room with yellow flowers on the walls, the sun shining on a rusty car, a small green parrot in a cage-- and soon even those would be gone.

But Marco remembered music.

At least, he remembered a song. Just one. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it, or who had sung it to him, he knew it was a woman though. Logic, as much as a four year old could grasp it, told him it was probably his first Mama, but he couldn’t be sure. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he could never quite make out the face, but he remembered the voice, singing him back to sleep whenever he woke up crying. Nobody sang him to sleep when he cried now. They’d rock him, shush him and hold him, maybe tell him a story. But never sing to him, no matter how hard he cried.

Just like baby Miguel was crying now.

He’d been crying for a while now, almost five minutes. Usually when he started crying, Mama Coco-- who always watched Marco and Miguel when the rest of the family was busy in the shop--would know just what to do. She’d give him a bottle, or change his panales, or just rock the cuna back and forth. And sometimes, sometimes she’d sing, and that would always calm Miguel down, no matter what. Marco loved when she’d sing, sometimes he’d even hum along with her, and she never told him to stop, like Mama Elena or anyone else did. 

But this time, Mama Coco had fallen asleep in her chair, and there was no one to help Miguel stop crying. 

For a few minutes, Marco had wondered if he should try to wake Mama Coco up. But Mama Elena always told him to let her rest whenever he tried to wake her up and play with her. Then he thought about going to get Mama or Papa. But they were busy in the shop, and he couldn’t leave Miguel alone with just a sleeping Mama Coco.

“Remember Marco, you’re a big brother now.” Mama had told him the first time he’d ever seen Miguel, back when he’d been an even smaller baby, wrapped up so tight that the only thing Marco could see of him was a squished little face under a thick tuft of black hair.

“And being a big brother means you’ve got the important job of helping Miguel stay happy and safe.” Papa had added, as he helped Marco to hold up Miguel’s head as the baby lay in his lap. “And I know you’ll do a great job at mijo.” 

“I’ll do whatever it takes Mama!” Marco remembered saying, trying as hard as he could to look grown up and serious. He also remembered Mama Papa laughing at the face he’d made. But he’d meant what he said. He’d do whatever he had to help his baby brother, even if it meant breaking the rules--even if it meant singing. 

Looking around to make sure that nobody was watching, Marco crept over to the crib. Standing on a stool so that he could see Miguel, he began making the sort of shushing sounds he’d heard all the adults make when quieting the baby. 

“Shsh...It’s ok hermanito, I’m gonna sing to you, like Mama Coco does. But you can’t tell anybody ok?” Miguel made a hiccuping sound, which Marco decided to take as a “yes”.  
He took a deep breath, partially to get ready, partially to calm his rapidly beating heart. He could get into big trouble for this if anybody walked in, but if it would help Miguel…Only, what should he sing? He’d heard Mama Coco sing plenty of times, but he didn’t really know the words to her songs, not like he knew the words to his memory song…the song that he’d never sung aloud, because if anybody ever heard it, and told him not to sing even in his head, then that memory might go away too…

But Miguel was still crying.

Slowly, Marco let his breath out, and began:

“Luna Lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios, que me quiera…”

His voice sounded ten times louder in his ears then Marco was sure he was actually singing. And the sound was so different from the smooth, lilting voice in his memory. He kept squeaking in odd places, and he was sure he wasn’t getting the bigger words right. But, despite all of that something wonderful was happening--Miguel had not only stopped crying, he was smiling, and gurgling along, as if he wanted to sing too. Marco felt his heart swell up inside him at the sight. 

“...dile que no vivo de tanto padecer ,dile que a mi lado debiera volver…”

Miguel crooned again, and Marco smiled back. His hermanito liked his secret song! And maybe...maybe it didn’t have to stay in his head, maybe they could share the secret together…

“Luna Lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera, dile que me muero, que tenga compasión ,dile que se apiade de mi corazón, dile que se apiade de mi corazón…”

And as he finished off the song, Marco remembered something else the voice in his memory had said to him, when he’d used to sing along --

“Oh, mi corazón, you’ve got such a wonderful voice…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm aware I've written a pretty articulate four year old year, (Four year old Miguel falls into the same trap)  
> But my excuse for this is  
> 1\. These kids are all musical prodigies of a sort so they're gonna be quick developers in some other areas too.  
> 2\. I haven't hung out with four year olds that much lately so...  
> 3\. It's a world that has talking skeletons so some suspension of disbelief is appropriate I think ;)
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment if you liked it! Thanks!


	2. This Music is My Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Decided to post this today since I already had it done, and the first chapter seems to have gone over pretty well! Thanks so much for all the kudos and reviews! The next update will be Thursday. This chapter features quite a bit of time jumps, just to let you know. But glad to see you're liking what I've got so far!

Watching television or in the Rivera household was...interesting. Just because music wasn’t allowed didn’t mean that the family was willing to give up their telenovelas; and the extended family of the Riveras who’d married into the name still occasionally gave out movies as presents whenever special occasions arose. The problem of soundtracks was solved by simply muting the sound and switching on the subtitles. 

This worked fine for the adults, but the younger Riveras either had to learn to read very very quickly, or be left at the mercy of whoever was watching with them to explain what was going on. Marco, who by age six had watched one to many movies with Abel ( who found it hilarious to claim the characters were all saying all sort of ridiculous things), chose the former option. And there were more than a family videos of him reading off the screen to a toddling two year old Miguel, lisping off all the different voices the way he imagined they might sound.

They were never allowed to watch any musicals of course. Because even reading off the lyrics of songs might have tainted their delicate little minds. But once Mama took them on a visit to an old friend of hers, who’d just had a new baby. While Mama had been distracted with her friend in the other room, the twelve year old daughter of the friend, (who’d been put in charge of watching the boys and would have much rather been doing anything else) put on something called La Sirenita to keep them busy--and it worked better than she could have ever imagined. Marco was entranced, and little Miguel sat still then he ever had in his short life, listening to all the different instruments and voices coming together in ways they’d never even dreamed of.

They’d made it to the part where the scary octopus lady had taken the mermaid’s voice when Mama had come rushing in, and hurriedly packed them off into the car. She didn’t say anything about it to Papa or Mama Elena or anyone else, perhaps she was hoping that if she didn’t make a fuss over it, the boys would forget what they’d seen. 

But Marco remembered. He didn’t think he could ever forget. He loved his Mama and Papa and his primos and all his family. But sometimes, sometimes he felt like he was the one who’d had his voice taken away. A voice that somebody, somewhere, once thought was wonderful.

***

Marco was eight years old before when he first set foot in Mariachi Plaza, and when he was asked how he’d even gotten there, he didn’t hesitate a moment in throwing Abel under the proverbial bus. The older boy had been put in charge of watching Rosa, Marco and Miguel for the day while the adults worked in the shop, and he was supposed to be watching them in the house. But Abel was trying to save up to buy a scooter, a necessary item for any thirteen year old; and he wasn’t about to be down a days shoe-shining wages just because he was stuck watching his kid sister and cousins. Confident in his ability to shine shoes and keep an eye on three rambunctious children, he’d marched them out of yard and into the streets of Santa Cecilia.

After staking out the perfect spot to drum up customers, Abel had plunked them down on bench and given them strict instructions not to move or talk or even blink without his say-so before running off after customers. And they’d obeyed that order for about five seconds, before Rosa declared she was bored and hot and hungry and got up to go home. Miguel had other ideas, and with all the speed his four year old legs could give him had run down the opposite street after a puppy he’d seen, leaving Marco to chase after him. Abel, shining up a storm, noticed nothing.

Which was how Marco found himself smack dab in the middle of Mariachi Plaza, the place he’d been warned about as the most wretched hive of scum and musicality in all of Santa Cecilia. And somewhere in here was Miguel, his innocent baby brother. While mariachis strummed endlessly around him, Marco started running around and calling for Miguel, but was cut off by a group of people following a lady with a flag, who was speaking very, very loudly.  
“ And right here, in this very plaza, the young Ernesto De la Cruz took his first steps toward becoming the most beloved singer in Mexican history!”

That made Marco pause, and not just because of the crowd blocking him. The most beloved singer in Mexican history? And they’d lived here? He stared up at the statue the lady was pointing to; a musico with the biggest sombrero Marco had ever seen, a guitar in his hands and a wide smile on his face. And sitting right under the statue, staring at it in awe, and tapping his foot along to the music all around them, was Miguel. 

“Hey!” Marco said, cutting running around the crowd as they moved past him. “You can’t just run off like that Miguelito! You could have gotten hurt!, and we’re gonna be in big trouble if anybody finds us here.”

“I was listening to the music.” Miguel said, around the thumb in his mouth. “What’s that say?” He asked, pointing up at a plaque on the statues base. Marco spared it a glance before grabbing Miguel’s hand and pulling him up on his feet. “Seize Your Moment. Now come on, we gotta get back to the bench before Abel notices we’re gone.” 

“What’s Seize Your Moment mean?” 

Marco, trying to find his way around yet another tour group, had to think for a minute of how to explain the concept to a four year old. “It’s like, when you’ve got the chance to do something you’ve always wanted to do, you should do it.”

“Oh.” Miguel said, and then went back to sucking his thumb. But after a moment, when they’d been stopped by another serenading group of mariachis, he looked up at Marco and asked, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do Marco?”

Marco, distracted by trying to keep out of the mariachis way, answered without even thinking. “Sing.”

“But you do sing.” Miguel said, looking confused. “You sing the Luna song to me all the time.”

“Hey, shush, that’s a secret remember?” Marco said quickly, glancing around the plaza as if Mama Elena might be hiding behind one of the bushes or park benches. “And that’s different. I only sing to you, and just that one song. I wanna sing lots of things, and out loud, not just quiet at night so that nobody gets mad.”

“Like Ernesto la Cruz?” 

“Who?”

“Ernesto la Cruz,” Miguel repeated, pointing back at the statue. “The lady with the flag was talking about him before you came up. She said he sang all the time, and for the whole world! And nobody got mad at him.”

“I think his name is Ernesto De la Cruz. And that’s different. He was famous or something. Famous people can do all sorts of stuff and get away with it. Like on Mama Elena’s novelas. Emilio straight up murdered that friend of his and he never even got arrested. At least, I don’t think he did, Mama Elena threw me out after that when she noticed I was watching.”

Miguel seemed to consider this as they finally made it to the edge of the plaza. But then he looked up at Marco and said, “But the flag lady said he wasn’t always famous, and she said he was from right here, just like us, and we’re not famous either.” And then wide smile broke across his face, “And so maybe someday, you can be famous and sing too, you just have to wait an’ seize your moment!”

Marco couldn’t help but laugh at the intensity in Miguel’s voice. But he was touched too. Ruffling his brother hair, he smiled back at him. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait and see huh?”  
And it was at that moment that a red-faced Tio Berto came round the corner, dragging a shame-faced Abel by the ear and shouting at the surrounding musicos to “get away from his innocent sobrinos!” 

Marco hadn’t dared to sing his song to Miguel that night, he was sure that the adults were all sitting up, waiting to see it either of them had been corrupted by music and started singing in their sleep. But he couldn’t help help but whisper across the room they shared and ask, “Hey, Miguel, what’s something that you’ve always wanted to do?”  
And he couldn’t deny that a thrill went through his heart when he heard:

“I wanna play music. Maybe I can play and you can sing! We can be famous together!”

“Yeah…” Marco said softly, “Yeah I’d like that.”  
***  
Marco was ten years old when he discovered the crawl space tucked between the roof of the workshop and the tool-shed. He been playing with Miguel when their Frisbee had gone wide, and ended up on the roof. Marco had never been on the roof before, and truth be told he was a little wary of going up, but he really really liked that Frisbee. Besides, he wasn’t about to let a six year old see that he was scared of anything. He’d scrambled up after it easily enough as Miguel watched, and had been moving along without much trouble, right up until his shoelace caught on nail, and he’d lost his balance. For three terrifying seconds he was sure he was going to slide right off the edge. If his life flashed before his eyes it was too brief for him to really notice it, but luckily in his flailing he’d managed to catch hold of the edge of the boot-shaped sign. 

The sign wrenched under his arrested momentum, but held. Breathing heavily, Marco managed to scramble back into a sitting position, and that was when he’d noticed the dark space now visible behind the sign. He hadn’t been able to explore it right then of course, because Miguel’s cries when he’d slipped had brought every member of the familia rushing to the yard, and he’d had endure an admittedly deserved scolding from Mama. The Frisbee had been retrieved by Abel, but by then Marco’s mind had been entirely taken up by what he’d found.

The next time he went up, he’d made sure to tie his shoes. And by the time he’d finished exploring the crawl space he decided that his slip had been an act of destiny. This space had been here waiting all this time for somebody to find it and put it to use, and it might as well be him. Well, him and Miguel. The kid followed him everywhere, so he’d have to let him in on it if he wanted it to stay secret. At least, that was the excuse Marco gave to the taunting voice in his head that always sounded like Leon from school. He knew that at his age most boys wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with their little brothers, but in his heart of hearts, Marco didn’t really mind. Miguel was pretty cool for his age, and honestly, he was the only person Marco felt he could really be himself around. 

“This’ll be our secret place, just for us.” He said as he held up the sign for Miguel to crawl in. The little boy gasped in delight as he looked around. Marco had managed to scrounge up some candles and had stuck up a few posters to brighten up the walls. It wasn’t much, but the way Miguel was looking around it was like he’d stumbled into a treasure trove. “This is so cool!” He whispered as he looked around. “It’s like Zorro’s secret hideout! Or the cave in La Sirenita!”

Marco grimaced at the last comparison. “Let’s stick with Zorro.” He might not mind Miguel but he wasn’t about to admit he liked princess movies at his age.  
They’d added on to the Cueva de Zorro over the next few months. Just little things here and there, knicknacks from their room that they didn’t have space for, a couple of small benches that had been thrown out of the workshop for being too rickety. Eventually they discovered that if they dropped an extension cord down a certain hole in the floor the end came out right near a forgotten power socket in the corner of the workshop, and they were able to set up a string of electric lights across the rafter. 

“One day, if we get enough money and can find a one cheap enough, maybe we could get a TV in here.” Marco said as he hammered in some shelves as quietly as he could. Nobody had noticed their noise yet, probably because of how loud it could get in the workshop, but it paid to be careful. 

“That’d be awesome!” Miguel chimed back as he held up the cup of old nails for Marco to use. “And then we could watch movies with sound in them!” 

“They’d have to be really old movies, That’s the only things we’d be able to buy cheap. The TV might not even play in color.”

“I don’t mind, I like old movies!” Miguel declared with a smile. “Maybe we could even get some old Ernesto De la Cruz movies!” 

Marco chuckled at his brother’s enthusiasm. His obsession with the musician had only grown since that day they’d found out the most famous singer in Mexico had been born and raised in their own home town. Every time they’d go to the heladeria together Miguel would beg Marco to walk them home the long way so that they could pass by the shops that sold souvenirs of the man. To be honest, It didn’t take much to persuade Marco to take the detour. Songs by De la Cruz were always playing from the shop’s speakers, and both the boys were enraptured by the man’s voice. 

“He’s really something isn’t he?” An old shopkeeper had commented one time when they’d been caught sitting under the outdoor speaker, their forgotten ice-cream dripping down onto the pavement.

“He’s incredible.” Marco had murmured back, listening as De la Cruz’s voice swooped up and down like a bird in flight. He wondered how long it would take him to learn to sing like that. If he ever had the chance. 

“He’s the best!” Miguel had happily agreed. Then, looking back at Marco with a smile, he added, “‘cept for you Marco!”

“Oh! You a singer nino?” The shopkeeper had asked with smile. Marco, a little embarrassed, but also sort of pleased by the positive attention, gave a non-committal shrug. Miguel bulldozed over his modesty to declare that his brother was the best singer in Santa Cecilia, and that one day he was going to be famous just like De la Cruz!

The shopkeeper had laughed at that, but not unkindly. “That so? And what about you mijo? Are you going to be a famous singer too?” 

Miguel nodded enthusiastic, “We’re gonna sing together! And I’m gonna play the guitar too! Or the trumpet, or the violin, or maybe all of them! I haven’t decided yet!” 

“Fantastico! And then I can say ‘I knew them when”! The shopkeeper had said with another laugh, patting Miguel on the head. “Well, I hope you remember us back home when you’re rich and famous!” 

“We will!” Miguel assured him solemnly. “We’ll give you free tickets to our shows!”

“Gracias.” The shopkeeper said, placing a weathered hand on his heart. Then he stopped, a thought seeming to strike him. He reached over and pulled a small figurine of De la Cruz playing a guitar from off a shelf. It was a little chipped and cracked at the base, but still in pretty good shape. “Here ninos, I can’t sell this one, but hey, maybe you’d like it? Something to remind you of old Rudolfo when you’ve made it big.” 

Miguel took the figure gently and stared at it as if it was a prestigious award, instead of a broken knick knack. “Gracias senor.” He whispered, looking up at the man with awe. 

“De nada nino.” The shopkeeper, Rudolfo, turned back to his counter as another customer came up, leaving the boys to wander back home. Marco pondered his words as they shuffled along the street. Him and Miguel, famous musicans. It was a great dream, sure, but...could it ever actually come true? Not while they lived under Mama Elena’s roof and rules. But, still…

“Miguel...do you really wanna be a musician?” Marco asked, coming to a stop so that he could look his brother in the eye. Miguel seemed to notice that Marco’s mood had shifted, become more serious. He nodded rapidly. “Yes! More than anything! Music makes me happier than anything else in the world! Even-even ice-cream!” And he thrust up his dripping cone for emphasis. 

For once, Marco didn’t laugh at Miguel’s childish intensity. He was thinking. Music made him happy too. More then that, when he sang it seemed to fill a hole inside him that had been there as far back as he could remember...and one thing he remembered clearly was making a promise to help Miguel be happy…and if being famous musicians meant that Miguel would be happy and his hole would be filled well…

Famous people could do whatever they wanted right? No matter what their Abuelas said.

“Ok.” Marco said, resolution sinking into him like water into a pool. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna be musicians, no matter what. I promise.”

Miguel beamed up at him with almost blinding adoration at this, and Marco couldn’t help but grin back just as wide. “But we gotta wait for the right time, claro? Seize our moment? We’ll have to do practice in secret, without telling anybody. Because if anybody finds out--”

Here, Marco slide a finger across his throat, and Miguel gulped. “We’re dead meat. Got it?” Miguel nodded as solemnly as he could. Marco just nodded back. And taking his brother’s hand once more, they walked slowly back to Rivera Familia de Zapateros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miguel's little shrine in the movie remind anyone else of Ariel's grotto? Cuz it sure reminded me :)


	3. Only A Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple more time skips in this one, and then the next chapter will start covering the events of the movie. Enjoy!

Marco started shining the shoes of Santa Cecilia at twelve years old, per Rivera tradition. And he worked his hardest to literally outshine the competition. His family was thrilled by how enthusiastically he’d taken up the position, Mama Elena always gushed about how nobody could buff a pair of boots like her nieto, and Papa had even given him his old shoe shining kit from when he was a boy. Mama, watching him drop his hard earned pesos into an old glass jar with “Marco’s Zombie Apocolypse Money” scribbled on it, had laughed aloud at the label, and then told him how proud she was that he was saving his money for the future instead of spending it all on candy like other boys his age. 

Marco thought that they probably wouldn’t be as proud of him if they knew what all that hard work and money saving was really for. Some of it went into buying old De la Cruz movies and merchandise for la Cueva de Zorro, which was, to Marco’s chagrin, beginning to look more and more like the cave of La Sirenita as he and Miguel added to it. Some of it was kept for the future, to finally kick off that far away day when they could go out on their own and become famous musicians. Some of it... actually did go to candy. But as Marco figured he was already secretly disappointing Mama enough with the rest of his purchases he tried to hold back his sweet tooth. 

But for the last few months, almost half of the year, most of it had been saved towards a secret birthday present for Miguel. And yesterday, he’d finally been able to buy it. It wasn’t very pretty to look at, true, and it definitely needed fixing up before it could ever be used. But it was the best Marco could afford on shoe shining tips. And he knew that Miguel was going to love it. 

“Alright, you keep that bandana on until I say so, ok?” Marco whispered that night, after the family had celebrated Miguel’s eight birthday in the brightest, loudest, most non-musical way possible, as only the Riveras could. He’d waited until he was sure that everyone else was sound asleep before waking Miguel up and taking him up to the crawlspace. Now a still half asleep Miguel was seated on the floor, trying his hardest to peek through the blindfold Marco had tied around his eyes.

“Can I take it off yet?”

“Not yet, I’m still setting it up...wait, wait...ok...NOW”!

Miguel didn’t need to be told twice, and quickly ripped off the bandana. He gasped like someone had sucker-punched him. Standing before him, propped up on one of the benches and surrounded with flowers and candles like an offering on a mini Dia de los Muertos ofrenda, was the battered wooden skeleton of an actual guitar.  
“I know it’s pretty messed up right now, but I’ve been working extra hard so we can start buying stuff to fix it. What ya think hermanito? It’s a start at least, huh?”

Marco knew Miguel pretty well, he knew that no matter how ugly or beat up the guitar was, his brother would still have been head-over-heels ecstatic over that fact that it was actually his. He’d expected the exited squealing and non-stop chattering. But he hadn’t quite prepared himself to be bowled over onto his back as Miguel literally leapt at him, squeezing his arms around Marco’s chest in a bone -crushing hug that was worthy of Mama Elena. 

“You. Are. The. Best. Brother. EVER!” Miguel exclaimed, tightening his hug with each word. Marco managed to gasp out a “de nada” before having to push Miguel off of him in order to draw breath. After he’d made sure that none of his ribs were cracked, he’d turned back to Miguel, who was still smiling and bouncing up and down like that xolo puppy he’d tried to sneak home last week. Marco beamed back at him. He’d been planning this particular present for a while, ever since they’d started practicing songs together in La Cueva, following along to old records of De la Cruz. Both of them sang, but while Marco mostly focused on following the man’s vocals, Miguel would try to air-guitar whenever there was an instrumental break. Now, he could try following along for real.

“Well I’m not sure how I’m gonna top myself next year after a reaction like that, but I guess I’ll do my best.” Marco said with a laugh, ruffling Miguel’s hair. The younger boy grinned back, his eyes shining. “Now, just promise me you won’t get over excited and let this slip out ok? Remember, we gotta keep low until we find the right moment. I don’t want this thing taken away the day after getting it.”

“I promise! Don’t worry! And I’d throw myself off the roof before I’d tell anybody!”

“Well, you don’t have to go quite that far.” Marco laughed, holding up the sign so Miguel could slid out onto the roof, “I’d settle for you just keeping your mouth shut, at least until Tia Carmen has her babies. By then I think everybody will be so distracted they wouldn't notice if you stood on the roof and gritoed!”

***

The year Marco turned fourteen, four very important things happened. He’d had to start shaving, He had his first real crush on a girl who wasn’t La Sirenta. He finally managed to find a cheap TV and get it into the crawl space, (and quickly supplemented that with a whole box full of old De la Cruz cassette tapes). And the guitar was finally, positively, finished.

He’d honestly been feeling pretty guilty about that guitar. He’d started helping in the shop after school, and while this meant he had more money to put towards fixing it, it severly cut into the time he had to do so. The most he’d managed to do was help Miguel warp some of the wood to fit the base, the rest of the labour had mostly fallen on his little brother. To Miguel’s credit, he’d poured the majority of his own pocket money into the thing. Marco hated to think how long it would have taken Miguel to fix up the guitar if he’d had to do it on his own allowance.

But Miguel didn't seem to mind how long it took. The guitar was a labour of love for him, and he poured his heart and soul into it, trying his best to fashion it into a replica of Ernesto de la Cruz’s famous white skull guitar, gold “tooth” and all. And today, Marco’s birthday, Miguel said that he wanted to play his brother the guitar’s first official song.

Miguel had played on the guitar before of course. Little things he’d made up or managed to copy from watching the De la Cruz movies, but he said he’d been practicing something special to share with Marco that night after his party.

“Ok, it might not sound that great, I kinda had to make it up, but I worked really really hard and--”

“Miguel!” Marco cut in with a laugh, “I’m sure it’ll be fantastic, no matter what. Just go ahead and do your best. Knowing you that’ll be pretty impressive anyway.”

Miguel smiled shyly and started quickly retuning the guitar, being careful not to overstress the strings in his excitement. He plucked at them one by one, checking and rechecking to make sure everything was ready. Finally, he nodded his head in satisfiction, took a deep breath, and started playing.

At first, Marco was a little confused. The notes Miguel was playing didn’t sound like any De la Cruz song he remembered hearing, and he’d assumed that Miguel would have wanted to play one of his idol’s songs as his first guitar piece. But this was something different. The sound was...haunting. In a good way, a strangely...familiar way.

And then, Miguel started singing, and Marco heart leapt into his throat.

“Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera; dile que no vivo de tanto padecer, dile que a mi lado debiera volver.”

It must have taken his little brother months to plan this. Working out which notes would fit, transforming a whispered tune into something he could actually play. How long had it taken him to write this? To memorize it? Neither of them could read music, they’d need a teacher for that… Miguel must have picked up more from watching those old movies then even Marco had realized… 

“Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera; dile que me muero, que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón.”

Miguel’s voice reverberated through the attic. Quiet, yet calm and clear, pure and unadulterated by any fancy tricks or vocalizing. Just pure melody, running perfectly together with the pure music flowing out of the hand crafted guitar. As the song picked up tempo, so did his passion, his fingers gliding along the strings like they were always meant to be there.

“¡ Ay lunita redondita, que la espuma de tu luz bañen mis noches !¡ Ay lunita redondita, dile que me has visto tú llorar de amor !”

Miguel could have picked any song. At least with a De la Cruz song he wouldn’t have had to figure out his own notes. But no, he’d picked Marco’s song. His secret song, the one he’d had to hide all these years with only Miguel to share it with. And now he was hearing it, for the first time, with actual music. Music that Miguel had made, for him.

“Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera; dile que me muero, que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón. Dile que se apiade de mi corazón…”

The last note faded away, leaving the two brothers wrapped in the silent nighttime once more. After a moment, when Marco was sure that he’d reigned in his emotions enough that his voice wouldn’t crack, he found himself whispering “I...wow...that was...thanks.”

“So you liked it?” Miguel asked, biting at his lip, the way he did when he was especially nervous about something.

“I loved it.” Marco assured him, pulling him in for a hug. “It was the best birthday present I could ever get.”

Miguel breathed a sigh of relief, and hugged Marco back. Then he suddenly looked up with a sly grin and whispered, “Better than a kiss from Eydie Mondragon?”

Marco creamed him with a De la Cruz throw pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write. The present of the guitar and Miguel singing Marco's song to him where some of the very first things I planned out for this fic.
> 
> (Also, I'm not sure why the note from the first chapter keeps popping up again. I've tried to fix it but it must be a glitch in the system :/)


	4. The Way of the Riveras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had this ready sooner then I thought, and didn't want to make you all wait a whole week before getting into the main story. Hope you enjoy!

When Marco turned sixteen, things started to get complicated. His work hours increased, and between the shop and school that didn’t leave much time for hanging out with Miguel, much less sneaking off to make music. More and more, Miguel was left on his own, with no one to share his ideas or passions with, and the strain was starting to show. Several times Mama Elena had caught him tapping out a tune on his shoe shine kit, or whistling into an old Coke bottle. And today she’d hauled him in from Mariachi Plaza! 

Normally Marco wouldn’t have worried about this too much, Miguel knew the best was to wriggle out of suspicion was to claim that the plaza was the best place to run up shoe-shining business. But then Miguel had started talking about a talent show. He hadn’t outright said anything about music, but it was all setting off warning bells in Marco’s head. All it would take was one wrong word and they could kiss six years of secret plans goodbye. No more music, forever. 

As soon as he could, Marco mumbled a quick excuse to Papa and slipped out of the workshop after Miguel. He’d gone off to the ofrenda room with Mama Elena, but apparently managed to slip away, as she was coming out of it alone. His abuela seemed in a surprisingly good mood now, considering how upset she’d been about finding MIguel in the plaza, but Marco didn’t have time to wonder about that, he had to find Miguel. A sudden noise from behind caught his attention, and he turned to see that ridiculous Xolo dog that was always following Miguel around scrambling up the roof and into la Cueva de Zorro. Marco rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he and Mama Elena agreed on, it was that dog. Marco still remembered the first day Miguel had smuggled that thing into the attic, and the mess that “Dante” had made of the figurine of his namesake. To this day the back leg of the horse would still fall off at random moments. 

Stifling a groan of annoyance, and shooting a quick glance around to make sure that nobody was looking, Marco quickly followed the street-dog up towards the hideout. Pulling up the sign, he found Miguel sitting in front of the TV, the guitar on his lap, strumming along with the “Best of De la Cruz” tape, his fingers moving along the strings with hardly a thought. His music blended perfectly with that of the song on the tape, and even the dog seemed captivated by the sound. Quietly, Marco slide himself up next to Miguel.

“Thought I’d find you here.” He whispered, so as not to break Miguel’s concentration. His elbow jostled one of the benches as he sat, and he winced. “Man I swear this place used to be bigger.” A small smile crossed Miguel’s face, but his eyes stayed on the screen. De la Cruz was speaking to an interviewer, but from the look on Miguel’s face, it was as if the man was speaking directly to him.

“...I had to have faith in my dream. No one was going to hand it to me. It was up to me to reach for that dream, grab it tight, and--”

“ Make it come true…” Miguel whispered as the tape ended. The look of longing in his eyes made Marco’s heart flop in his chest. Miguel deserved so much more than this, having to hide up in an attic with only himself and the weirdest dog in Santa Cecilia to listen to him. On that note Marco didn’t much like having to keep his voice locked up in an attic either. But what could they do? This wasn’t like one of De la Cruz’s movies where you could just jump on the next train out of town to pursue the call of destiny. Especially not if you were two underage kids...but hopefully, they wouldn’t have to wait that much longer. Usually Marco liked to wait until his plans were a little more concrete before sharing them with Miguel, in case they didn’t pan out, but the kid really looked like he could use some cheering up...

“Look..” Marco said softly, picking his words carefully as he went along. “I know it’s been rough lately, and you’ve kinda been left on your own, but remember what I said, you gotta keep it together ok? Wait it out, we’ll have our moment. I promise.”

“But I’m tired of waiting!” Miguel interrupted, turning his face away and squeezing the guitar to hold back his frustration. “I wanna seize my moment now! I wanna play at the plaza!” 

“Hey” Marco said, placing a hand on Miguel’s shoulders, and turning his brother’s chin so he could look him in the eye. “ You and I both know that all that idea is gonna get you is a chancla to the backside...Look, I’ve got this friend ok, Esteban, and his uncle is doing some sort of work for the music festival in Morelia. He’s got a costume party tonight, and if I ask him” --and by ask I mean bribe him by setting him up with Eydie’s friend Marcela because there is no way he’d ever get a date with her on his own-- Marco thought with a mental roll of his eyes, “I’m sure that he’d be able to land us a couple of tickets and a ride.”

Miguel’s eyes widened at this, but he looked skeptical. “How would we explain where we were going? And how are you even getting to the party? It’s Dia de Muertos, we’re supposed to stay here…”

“Says the kid who was all set to run off to Mariachi Plaza! Look, I have my ways. I don’t even have to stay all night, just zip in as long as it takes to butter up--er, talk to Esteban, and then I’m home again. And the festival is still a year away, I’ll have plenty of time to think up an excuse before then.” 

Marco leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, smiling what Mama called his “salesman” smile, which he always used when getting a customer to buy exactly the pair of shoes he wanted them to. “We can take the guitar, we’ll listen to the radio, sing as loud as we want, maybe even play a little ourselves! Make some connections you know? And after that, well, hey, in two more years I’ll legally be an adult right? So if I were to, say, sign you up for music camp…?”

Marco let the offer hang temptingly, and although Miguel’s look was still skeptical, Marco could see excitement starting to creep back into his eyes. “Wouldn’t that cost a lot of money?”

Marco scoffed at the question, picked up the Zombie Money jar, (which had long since taken up residence in the hideout ever since he had caught Benny and Manny trying to open it) and shook it teasingly. “What do you think this was for? Actual zombies?”

“But that’s your money.”

“Not anymore…” Marco said casually, plucking up the china marker Miguel used to touch up the features on his guitar. Quickly he scribbled over the label, and then turned it to face Miguel. “See, now, it’s our money.”

The label now read “Marco and Miguel’s Music Money”, with a very large smudge attempting, though not quite succeeding, to cover up “zombies”.

Miguel stared at the jar for a moment, then launched himself into Marco’s chest, almost causing him to drop the jar. “Gracias hermano.” Miguel mumbled into Marco’s shirt, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. After taking a second to regain his breath, Marco returned the hug, his salesman smile replaced by an actual one. “De nada hermanito.” He whispered back

“No really, thanks. For everything.” 

“Ah,” Marco said with a shrug, as if he regularly planned secret trips out of the city that defined century long bans. “That’s just the sort of awesome guy I am.”  
Then, pulling back a little so he could look down at Miguel, he said with more seriousness, “ I’d do anything for you, you know that right?”

“I know.” Miguel said, wiping at his eyes, which were suspiciously wet. Marco blamed it on the dust in the crawlspace, it was getting into his too. Then Miguel snickered, and pulled face that Marco assumed was meant to be roguish, before asking “You’d move heaven and earth for me, right?”

“Pfft! Well, I hope I’m a better friend then Don Hidalgo.” Marco laughed, pushing Miguel away while ruffling his hair. “But... sure.”

They smiled at each other for a moment longer, before Marco suddenly noticed the time on his watch. “Oh man, I gotta go get ready for the party if I wanna be back in time. You get that walking sausage outta the house before Mama Elena sees him, ok?” Marco said, jabbing a thumb at Dante, who was currently choking on his own leg. “And remember, just keep it together a little while longer. ”

Miguel rolled his eyes as he helped Dante untangle himself. “I think I can last the night Marco.”

***  
He didn’t even last ten minutes.

Marco, (fully decked out in his mariachi costume that he’d managed to scrape together from various friends, complete with skeleton gloves and half-mask ), had just dropped over the back wall of the Rivera yard and begun sneaking down the street to Esteban’s when he’d heard a very loud, very familiar voice cry out:

“Mama Coco’s father was Ernesto de La Cruz! I’m gonna be a musician!”

***  
In retrospect, he probably should have taken the mariachi costume off before running back into the courtyard. 

As it was, it only compounded his guilt, because one of the first things his family found when raiding La Cueva de Zorro was the jar with both his and Miguel’s name on it. 

“What is all this? You keep secrets from your own family?” Mama Elena demanded, shaking the jar under his nose. 

“I--”

“We always thought you were such a good boy Marco!” Tio Berto cut in before Marco could even begin to mount a defense. “ A good example for Miguel, for Rosa and the twins! Now we find out this?! How long has this been going on?

“Look-” But Marco wasn’t even sure what he could even say. Everything was going horribly, horribly wrong. Abuela was still waving his jar like it held drugs instead of pesos, his tias were wailing like la llorona, he hadn’t even been able to look at his parents yet. He didn’t think he could stomach it. Tio Berto’s the jibe about him not being a good example hurt worse than he’d ever expected.

“You’ve filled Miguel’s head with crazy fantasies!” Exclaimed Tia Gloria, but Miguel cut her off before she could lay into him any further. 

“No he hasn’t! And it’s not a fantasy!”

He handed the photo of Mama Imelda and her faceless husband to Papa, pointing at a very familiar guitar that had been folded out of sight until ten life-changing minutes ago. 

“That man was Ernesto de la Cruz! The greatest musician of all time!”

Papa stared at the photo, as if trying to see the face that wasn’t there. Then he shook his head. “ We've never known anything about this man. But whoever he was, he still abandoned his family. This is no future for my sons.” 

He turned to look at Marco, who dropped his eyes, his shaking hands jammed into the pockets of his Mariachi suit. “I can’t believe you’d do this Marco. It’s bad enough you’ve disobeyed us behind our backs for so many years, but to drag Miguel into it too--”

“But Papá, you said my family would guide me!” Miguel cut in once more, apparently emboldened by his discovery beyond an sort of common sense. “ Well Marco’s family and so is De la Cruz ! I'm supposed to play music!” 

He reached out to Marco, slipping his arm through his brothers to stand side by side. “We’re supposed to play music! Marco’s an amazing singer! Maybe the best since De la Cruz! And we’re gonna perform together!”

Despite the fact that his world was currently coming undone thanks to Miguel and he could not for the life of him think of a plan to fix it...Marco was touched. His little brother’s loyalty was was boundless as his love for music. Slowly, Marco lifted one of his hands from his pocket and slide it into Miguel’s. They’d been in this together so far, might as well face the worst together as well.

Mama Elena, however, wasn’t done. “Never! That man's music was a curse! I will not allow it!” There was a fire in her eyes that made Marco’s stomach flop. He needed to find a way to diffuse this situation fast. But Miguel was just as unwilling to let go. Good old Rivera stubbornness. “If you would just let us--”

“Miguel--” Mama began, but Papa cut in, and the words he spoke chilled Marco to the bone. “You will listen to your family. No more music.”

No more music. That was it, it was over. Just a lifetime of silence and shoes. They’d be watching him like a hawk now. No more songs in the attic, no more ice cream trips to the plaza. Not even so much as a hum. He’d never be able to sing his song ever again…

A horrible numb feeling started to creep through him, starting in his stomach and climbing until it had a stranglehold on his heart, and then his throat, as if Papa words had already taken away his voice. Vaguely, through the haze, Marco registered that Miguel was still trying to argue his way out of the disaster they’d been plunged in. He and Mama Elena were going at it like cats and dogs. Somehow she’d gotten hold of Miguel’s guitar… wait, what was she--

“NO!”

Marco wasn’t sure if Miguel had screamed, or himself. Maybe they’d cried out together, as the guitar that had been part of their special link for so long, that represented years of hard work and shared dreams, was smashed to pieces in a matter of seconds. 

Mama Elena, dusting off her hands as if she’d simply been taking care of a particularly bothersome customer, instead of smashing a little boy’s heart along with the guitar, gave a firm nod and announced:

“There. No guitar, no music.”

Marco watched in disbelief as she then smiled at Miguel, assuring him that: “You’ll feel better after you eat with your family.” 

A look that Marco had never seen before flashed across Miguel’s face as he pulled away. He’d never seen his brother look so hurt, so...broken. And right now, he felt exactly the same. In fact, he felt like--

“I don't wanna be in this family!” Miguel cried out, snatching the torn photo from Papa’s hand and running as fast as he could through the open doors of the hacienda, out into the rapidly deepening night.

“MIGUEL!” 

Marco started to run after him, but was held back by a firm hand grabbing onto his arm. He turned back to stare at Papa’s face, sterner then Marco had ever seen it before.“You stay here mijo. You’ve done enough.”

The ice that had been building up inside of Marco was suddenly pierced by a white hot flame. Years of frustration, of hiding and watching his back, watching Miguel’s back, seared through him like a lightning strike. He pulled out his father’s grip with a ferocity that tore the sleeve of his costume. 

“I’ve done enough? I’ve done enough?!” He hissed, the fire growing inside him beginning to pour into his voice. “ I’m the only one who’s ever done anything for him! None of you even know him! If he didn’t have me to talk to, to play music with, who knows what sort of a mess he’d be right now! You probably wouldn’t even know where to look for him!”

“Enough Marco!” Papa’s voice was as hard as stone, and Marco’s fire faltered a little before it’s strength. “You will listen to us! We are your parents and--”

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” 

The words were out before Marco even realized he had said them. A horrible silence filled the courtyard. Papa stared at him as though he’d been physically struck. The rest of the family was too shocked to even gasp--all except for Mama, who placed one trembling hand on her mouth, and the other on her pregnant stomach. 

Marco’s face blanched. “Mama...I…”  
But Papa’s cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper, and ten times harder.

“Stay in the house.”

“P-”

“Stay. here.”

Marco obeyed, standing like a statue as the rest of his family, minus Rosa and the twins, flowed out of the courtyard to look for Miguel. At the gate, Mama turned back to look at him. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to say something. For a moment Marco thought he might. But then she looked away, squared her shoulders, and hurried out after Papa, calling Miguel’s name into the darkness.

***

One horrible half hour later, none of them had returned. Marco, still clothed in his clandestine costume, sat with Rosa at the kitchen table while the twins toddled about, oblivious to the drama unfolding around them. 

“They should have found him by now. They-they should have at least seen him! It’s not like he can turn invisible or something!” Marco muttered into his hands as he slumped in his seat. “It’s a small town, how hard can it be to find one kid!”

“Well they wouldn’t have to find him if you hadn’t made him go loco with music!” Rosa snipped, glaring at him over her glasses. Marco had always thought she looked just like the picture of Tia Victoria when she did that. And the way she said “music”, like it was something dirty, like he’d gotten Miguel hooked on drugs or something, that was pure Mama Elena. How could he expect her to ever understand how he felt? How could he expect any of them to ever understand? She was a Rivera. They were all Riveras. Rosa, Mama Elena, Tio Berto, Papa...Mama. All of them, shoemaking, music hating Riveras through and through. All of them...except for him.

It was just pure luck, pure bad luck in his opinion, that he’d ended up here, instead of with some normal family. In any other family he wouldn’t have had to hide, to sneak moments of music whenever he could get them, like that street dog sneaking scraps. Honestly, he’d have been better off on his own then stuck here, trapped in a world of shoes and silence. The more he dwelt on the thought, the more it appealed to him. Just him and music...and Miguel. If he could find him, if he could get to him before the others did, if he could save him from being dragged back here...

The numbness had returned, but this time it brought with it a terrible sense of clarity, of purpose. Marco rose slowly and smoothly from the table, pausing only to grab his work satchel off of it’s peg, and stuffing some tangerines, a flashlight, and his money jar--conveniently forgotten in the rush to find Miguel-- into it. A plan was forming in Marco’s mind, and he was more then willing to let it run away with him. Maybe he’d been holding himself back, maybe life could be a little like a De la Cruz movie, today certainly felt full of enough twists to be like one. He’d find Miguel, and the minute he did, they’d hop the first bus out of town. He knew how to work, he could find a job. He could take care of Miguel, he’d been doing it all his life. There’d be no more hiding, no more waiting. Just him, and Miguel, and Music. He was seizing his moment right here, right now.

“Wait! Tio Enrique said you were supposed to stay here! Where are you going?” Rosa called after him indignantly as he headed for the door. Marco paused in the doorway, before turning around and fixing her with a look that sent shivers up her spine.

“To find my brother. And if--when I do find him, I’m not bringing him back.”

And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun side note, my spellchecker tried to turn 'Don Hidalgo' to 'Don Homicidal'...I mean, it's not wrong...
> 
> I decided to change Marco's mask from a full mask like in the deleted clip to a half mask because well, he's gotta sing later, and that's kinda hard to pull off if your "mouth" isn't moving.


	5. Here the Bells Ringing...

The streets were filled with families heading to the cemetery or the plaza, all of them were busy with their own celebrations, and few paid attention to a lone boy wandering through the crowd. Marco kept his mask down however, just incase he ran across any of his family. He didn’t see any of them wandering the plaza though, and he scoffed internally about how right he’d been. They didn’t know Miguel at all if they didn’t think that this would be the first place he’d run too. Strangely though, he hadn’t glimped Miguel yet either.

“Disculpeme, but have you seen a little boy in a red hoodie? About twelve? Probably going on about--”

“Asking for a guitar?” The mariachi he’d asked cut in, not bothering to look up from tuning his own. “He was running all over the place trying to find a guitar so he could play in the show. Hah, these kids, they all want to be big without any of the preparation.”

Marco, knowing exactly how much preparation Miguel had done, only to have it smashed in front of his face, resisted the urge to make an angry comment, and asked as calmly as he could ‘“Did you see which way he went?”

The mariachi jerked a thumb towards the monument to De la Cruz, still not bothering to look up. “Last I saw he was talking to the statue.”

Marco turned to look at the statue himself, confused. “Talking to the stat--”  
Just then a burst of fireworks illuminated the sky above the plaza, lighting up the statue, multicolored lights glinting off--the guitar.

A series of very rapid images played out in Marco’s mind: Miguel asking for a guitar for the talent show, Miguel declaring De la Cruz was his great-great grandfather, Miguel’s guitar being smashed, the guitar being held by the statue, the actual guitar that Marco knew was housed in the mausoleum just up the hill…

“Oh Miguel you tonto…”  
***  
The cemetery was even more crowded then the streets, so Marco was able to wander about with almost no problems. There had been tense moment when he’d thought he’d seen Mama wandering somewhere to his left, looking ashen faced, but he’d ducked down behind a tombstone before he could be sure. Slowly, carefully, he made his way up towards the glittering white mausoleum at the top of the cemetery. 

He remembered the first time he and Miguel had snuck up here. He must have been eleven or so, Miguel around seven. He’d hoisted Miguel up as best he could so that the younger boy could sneak a peek at the famous guitar hanging over the crypt. 

“What if somebody tries to take it?” Miguel had asked, grasping on the windowsill to steady himself, eyes wide. Marco had laughed at the thought. “They keep door locked all the time, and the windows are locked too. Nobody's getting in there except for ghosts.”

All the way up the hill, Marco had hoped and prayed that he was wrong. That Miguel really wasn’t crazy enough to try what he thought he was trying to do. But the sight of a broken window sent his heart plumpeting into his custom Rivera shoes. 

“No. no. no. no. no. no. no!” Marco hissed as he ran up and looked inside. Sure enough, there was Miguel, kneeling on the sarcophagus and reaching for the guitar. He was speaking to the portrait of De la Cruz, Marco could just make out his words as he managed to get himself through the window. 

“--I’m Miguel, your great great grandson...I need to borrow this. Our family thinks music is a curse, they don’t understand, but I know you would have! You would have told me to follow my heart, to seize my moment! Just like Marco always says--”

“You know,” Marco cut in, dropping to the floor, “I don’t think that that great-great grandson excuse is going to fly with the authorities. Oh, and please don’t make me an accessory to a crime.”

Miguel actually fell off the sarcophagus in his shock, taking the guitar with him. Luckily for both him and the century old instrument, Marco managed to leap forward and catch them before they hit the cold, petal strewn floor.

“Hola.” Marco said dryly, looking down at his little brother in a way that clearly said, ‘You better start coming up with a convincing lie for me fast.” 

Miguel, still keeping a tight grip on the guitar, chuckled nervously. “Hehe, Marco, eh--fancy meeting you here?” He finished lamely, as Marco set him back on his feet. Marigold petals swirled around the younger boy as he did so, probably blown about by the wind coming in the open window.

“I could say the same about you hermanito. Tell me, just what was your plan exactly? Just waltz down to the plaza with the most famous guitar in Mexico and a staple of Santa Cecilia’s tourist industry, and start plucking away at Remember Me and hoping no one notices?”

“Um...well I didn’t think--”

“Exactly. Now come on,” Marco said sharply, reaching out to take the guitar from Miguel’s hands, “ Let's put this back where it belongs before anyone--”

But the instant Marco gripped the neck of the skull guitar, the mausoleum was filled with a horrible, screeching, almost ominous thrum. It chilled both boys down to their feet, around which the marigold petals were swirling violently. In the light of the candles and fireworks, they almost seemed to be glowing. From far, far off, the sound of a ringing bell joined with the thrum, growing steadily, until Marco had to cover his ears. Miguel, who had dropped the guitar in fright the moment the sound started, wrapped his arms around Marco and buried his face into the charro suit. Marco could feel him trembling against him, and dropped his hands so that he could wrap them around Miguel.

Then as suddenly as it had started, the sound died away, leaving the tomb as silent as...as well, what it was. 

“What...in the world...was that?” Marco whispered hoarsely. 

“I-I dunno…” Miguel whispered back. They both looked down at the guitar, which lay staring up at them, the skull face illuminated by a band of moonlight.

“I um...I think we should leave…” Marco said after a moment, scooting past the guitar towards the door, pulling Miguel along with him. 

“Yeah, yeah I think that would be a good idea--”

Just then, the door to the mausoleum burst open, and the brothers found themselves staring into the beam of a flashlight, held aloft by a very upset looking security guard. But the miniature heart attack that Marco experienced upon seeing him was nothing compared to the one he had only a second later when the man stepped forward and through the two brothers like they weren’t even there.

He didn’t appear to hear their screams either.

***

Miguel shot out of the crypt like a bullet, with Marco close behind him. Frantically, almost blindly, they stumbled down the hill, around and through various people who didn’t seem to notice them in the slightest. Each time Marco passed through a person, or they walked through him, he felt a horrible lurching feeling in his stomach. One look at Miguel’s face told him he was experiencing the same thing. 

A million thoughts raced through Marco head as he ran, none of them very clear or helpful. This entire night had been one enormous, horrible mess, and he wasn’t sure that he could take anymore surprises without having some sort of mental breaking down. Maybe that’s what was happening, maybe he was imagining all of this, maybe-- the figure of Papa suddenly stepped out in front of him. Marco had no time to even think of stopping before tumbling right through him onto the ground. 

“Marco!” 

Marco’s eyes shot open. “P-Papa--?”

“Marco! Miguel! Where are you?”

Ah, he couldn't see him them. And apparently Rosa had gotten the news out that he’d left the house.   
“Boys! Come home!”

Marco got to his feet, staring at his father as he wandered off deeper into the cemetery. Something twisted inside Marco as Papa continued to call for him to come home. The look on Papa’s face had been…haunted. Guilt washed over Marco when he thought about how he was the cause of that look. But then he remembered the guitar. How his father had done next to nothing to stop Abuelita from smashing it right in Miguel's face. Miguel. Where was Miguel? He’d been right in front of him a second ago--

A scream cut through the air. A woman’s scream, mixed with --  
“Miguel!”   
Marco raised towards the sound, only to stop dead in his tracks as he came face to skull with a walking, talking( well, screaming more accurately), Skeleton. In fact, now that he was frozen stiff enough to stop running and actually take notice, the entire cemetery was absolutely crawling with them. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that Miguel ran up at that instant to hide himself behind his older brother, Marco couldn’t have said for sure that he wouldn't have fainted. But then he couldn’t very well fall on Miguel, could he? Besides, the younger boy would never have let him live it down...if either of them were actually alive anymore. Marco really couldn’t be sure of anything at this point.

His breakdown was further distracted by the sudden appearance of a large, slobbering grey sausage that dashed at the boys from behind one of the tombstones. 

“Dante!” Miguel laughed as the xolo dog began licking at his face, prancing in and out of both his and Marco’s legs. “Wait-you can see us? What’s going on?”  
Dante, in response, began instantly tugging at the leg of Marco’s costume, and drooling all over it. “Hey! Get off me you dumb dog! Stop that!” Marco cried, trying in vain to shake the dog away from him.

“Wait, I-I think he wants us to follow him! What is it boy?”  
At Miguel’s question, Dante realized Marco’s pant leg and began galloping awkwardly towards another part of the cemetery, Miguel following close behind. With a groan, and a vague attempt to wipe his leg clean, Marco sprinted after them. He rounded a tombstone just in time to see Miguel collide with a short, mustached skeleton, who promptly flew into pieces. 

“I'm sorry!” Miguel cried, reaching out to try and gather up the scattered bones. Marco, still trying to make any sort of sense of this situation, dropped down automatically and tired to help as well.

“Miguel? Marco?”  
Both boys head shot up in shock upon hearing the skeleton speak their names. But they barely had time to process this when two lady skeleton popped up and repeated the same exclamation. Within minutes they found themselves surrounded by skeletons questioning, poking and hugging them with such bone crushing intensity that it came as no surprise to Marco when the bubbly lady skeleton declared “We’re your family mijos!”

“Tia Rosita? Papa Julio? Tia Victoria?” Miguel gasped out looking at each skeleton in turn. This was followed by another round of questions from the Dead Riveras, mostly centered on “what exactly was going on?” Marco wasn’t sure if the fact that they seemed as confused as he did made him feel better or worse about the situation, but his thoughts were interrupted once again by the skeletons of Tio Oscar and Felipe arriving to say that Mama Imelda was stuck back on the other side.

“I have a feeling this has something to do with you two...” Tia Victoria said, her skull somehow managing to convey sense of a question, raised eyebrow. “Well, if Mama Imelda can’t come to us-” Tia Rosita began, “Then we are going to her! Vamonos!” Papa Julio finished, waving for the group to follow him. Marco, relieved to have an adult, even a dead one, who seemed to have a plan, followed dumbly, dutifully behind, as the group rounded their way through the cemetery, towards a massive, shining marigold bridge.

***  
Marco had never imagined anything like this, not even in his most fantastic dreams. The glowing bridge; the ambling crowds of skeletons dressed in every style of clothings; the shimmering, shifting alebrije;, the massive, towering city shining out the mist before them. He wasn’t even sure that he could dream up anything this fantastic. It took his breath away.

Miguel didn’t seem to have any such problems, he was chatting way with the Dead Riveras at a mile a minute, asking all sorts of questions. He paused at one point to pull up his hoodie when the sight of his living face caused a skeletal woman to scream. Marco wished he still had his sombrero to pull down over his, but he’d left it outside of the mausoleum. He settled for pulling the mask that had fallen down back onto his face. 

At the end of the bridge there were a series of what looked liked toll booths through which skeletons were exciting and entering back into the city. The Rivera family passed through very easily, though they were momentarily distracted when a skeleton crossing dressing as Frida Kahlo tried unsuccessfully to cross the bridge before being hauled off by security. “Oh, I don't know what I'd do if no one put up my photo.” Tia Rosita said sympathetically as the skeleton was dragged off.

Marco stiffened. The image of Miguel running off with the ripped photo, the one with Mama Imelda on it, suddenly spring into his memory. It wasn’t like it was the only one they had of the woman, but with the living Riveras scouring Santa Cecilia trying to find him and Miguel, he doubted anyone would think of putting up another. And if that was the case, it looked like he and Miguel really might be the reason their great-great-grandmother was stuck here…And if she was anything like Mama Elena, and the chance of her not being similar where about a million to one, Marco was pretty sure he was heading into a brand new debacle. At least this time he had some time to prepare.

“Hey, when we meet Mama Imelda, just let me explain why we’re here, alright?” Marco whispered to Miguel as the family came up to a booth marked “Arrivals”. 

“Uh, Ok…” Miguel agreed, sounding a little confused. “Why can’t I explain?”

 

“Because the last time you tried to explain something to our family it ended up with us being here.”  
“Oh. yeah.” Miguel said sheepishly. Marco sighed to himself. That had come out harsher than he’d meant it too. But before he had time to think of a way to soften what he’d said, he found himself pushed up to the counter along with Miguel, and his mask lifted off his face so that he was staring at a skeleton who literally dropped his jaw at the sight of them.

***  
The offices of the Department of Family Reunions where jam-packed with upset and angry skeletons having all sorts of holiday problems, but Marco noticed that one particular clerk seemed to have gotten the worst of the lot. A lady skeleton in a purple dress was hammering on the oldest computer he’d ever seen, (which the clerk was trying desperately to hid behind) and raising absolute cain over the fact that she couldn’t cross over. The minute Marco say that she was hammering with a shoe he knew they’d found Mama Imelda, and that he was going to have to play his cards just right. Because if she’d been crossing over all the years but this one, she had no idea about what had happened between him and the family that night. As far as she knew, he was still a model Rivera. But if she ever did found out, he had no doubt he’d find himself the next target of that boot. 

Papa Julio motioned for the family to stand back, before cautiously trying to get Mama Imelda’s attention, and almost had his head knocked off for the third time that night before the Rivera matriarch realized who was speaking to her. 

“Oh!” Mama Imelda cried, softening just a little when she saw the little group. “Mi familia! They wouldn’t let me cross the bridge!” Turning back on the clerk just as angrily as before she cried, “Tell this woman and her devil box that my photo is on the ofrenda!”

“Uh, actually, we never made it to the ofrenda…”

“What?!”

“You see...” Papa Julio began nervously, waving a skeletal hand at the boys, who just as nervously stepped forward. “We ran into…”

Marco wasn’t sure how, but Mama Imelda’s eyes widened as she finally noticed her two living great-great grandsons. “Marco? Miguel?” She asked cautiously, almost worriedly, before her demeanor instantly hardened again. “What’s going on?”

Marco decide to take that as his opening, and tried to mix his salesman smile with just the right amount of sympathy, so as to convey the idea that “this is all very unfortunate, and I’m terribly sorry for the trouble it’s caused, but as you can see none of this is actually our fault.” 

“You see Mama Imelda, what happened is that this crazy dog--” He waved a hand over to where Dante was sniffing a pair of uncomfortable looking skeletons, “Well, he broke into the ofrenda room. He tried to eat the food and when Miguel went to stop him, your picture fell off the ofrenda. We tried to grab it but then he ran off with it--”

But before Marco could continue on with the story he’d concocted-- which involved him and Miguel chasing Dante into the graveyard, where they encountered a strange woman to whom they gave a pair of shoes, which they just happened to have with them, who then blessed them with the ability to see the dead...for...reasons…Because apparently a lot of the old stories where truer then he’d thought and there might be old women who did such things...it wasn’t one of his better stories but he was doing his best-- Marco was interrupted by another clerk popping out of an office and asking:

“You the Rivera Family?”

From the way he asked, Marco had a feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.  
***

“Well, you’re cursed.”

“Excuse me?” Marco sputtered as the skeleton clerk pronounced his verdict. The clerk had pulled the Rivera family into his office, and after giving both Miguel and Marco a once-over with what looked like an airport metal detector, and then consulting an obscene amount of paper worked, had proceeded to drop this decidedly unpleasant diagnosis on them.

“Dia de los Muertos is a night to give to the dead, you stole from the dead.”

“But I wasn’t stealing the guitar!” Miguel cried out, before cringing as he realized what he’d said. Marco groaned aloud, dropping his head into hands. Miguel’s big mouth just kept making this night better and better…

“Guitar?” Mama Imelda asked sharply, coming up behind them, “What’s this about a guitar?” She turned her focus to Marco, who kept his face buried in his palms. “What’s he talking about Marco? And how are you here? What have you been doing? What are you wearing? And why can’t I--”

“It wasn’t his fault!” Miguel cut in quickly, “He-he tried to tell me to put it back! But then when he touched it all this weird stuff happened--but--but it was my great-great grandfather’s!” Miguel continued, a strain of defiance creeping back into his voice, “He would have wanted me to have it!” 

“Ack! We do not speak of that-that- musician!” Mama Imelda spat, waving away Miguel’s claim. “He is dead to this family!” 

“Technically you’re all dead.” Marco muttered, finally dropping his hands. Mama Imelda shot him a fiery glare, but he was saved from any further wrath by the clerk violently sneezing. The conversation started to derail as the clerk and the family began arguing back and forth about whether Dante was an alebrije or not, and whether a man with no nose could be allergic to a dog with no fur--before Mama Imelda cut in to ask one more time, why she couldn’t cross over?!

“Oh!” Miguel said, pulling the torn photo from inside of his hoodie…”I uh…I forgot that still had it…after we...got it back from Dante?”

“And just how did following this photo stealing dog end up with you stealing a guitar?” Mama Imelda asked icily, her glare flicking back and forth between Marco and Miguel.

“Um, at this point isn’t a more important question how to break this curse so that we can go back and put the photo on the ofrenda for you?” Marco cut in quickly.

“An excellent point!” The clerk agreed to Marco’s relief. “The sooner they get sent back the better too.”

“Why’s that?” Marco asked.

“AUGH!” 

Marco whirled around to look at Miguel, who was holding up a shaking, skeletal finger. Marco stared at it in horror, before reaching out quickly to steady a wavering Miguel. His eyes then fell on his own hand, resting on Miguel’s shoulder, still covered by a skeleton. If he took them off, would he find...Marco quickly shook the thought away and turned back to the clerk, trying his best to keep his voice even. 

“Ok, how long do we have to break this curse before…”

“Before you move here permanently? Until sunrise. But luckily it’s a family matter, so you should be able to break it by getting your family’s blessing. Once you get the blessing, you go right back to normal.”

That seemed simple enough. They had plenty of family here after all--just then a thought struck Marco, one that made his heart start pounding in his chest. “Um, hold on a minute. I’m adopted, is-is that going to cause any problems?”

“Oh Marco! Of course it won’t!” Tia Rosita cried, grabbing him from behind for another suffocating hug. “It won’t will it?” she asked the clerk quickly, as Marco tried to free his windpipe.

“It shouldn’t no, not as long as you consider each other family.”

“Fine fine.” Mama Imelda interrupted, stepping up to the desk. “What do we need to do?”

The clerk quickly explained the terms of how to give the blessing, plucking a cempasúchil petal from the hem of Tia Rosita’s dress for Mama Imelda to use. 

“Do I need to do a separate blessing for both of them? Or will one do?” She asked, fingering the petal.

“The blessing should be personal, so separate blessings would be best.”

Mama Imelda nodded, “We’ll start with you then.” She said, motioning for Miguel to stand in front of her. Miguel looked back at Marco, who gave him nod and small smile. “I’ll be right behind you hermano.”   
Miguel nodded and smiled back, before taking a stance before Mama Imelda.

“Miguel.” Mama Imelda began, the petal in her fingers beginning to glow faintly, the light increasing as she went on, “I give you my blessing to go home...put my photo back on the ofrenda...and to never play music again!” 

“What?!” Miguel cried, jumping back from the petal and almost knocking Marco over before the older boy steadied him. Marco’s heart was racing again. No no no. “Can she do that?” He asked the clerk, trying his best to keep his tone even, as if he just wanted to clarify. If he didn’t burn anymore bridges then maybe he could still fix this...

“Well, yes. Technically she can add any conditions that she wants.” The clerk said uncomfortably, realizing that he was about to be in the middle of even more family drama.

“That’s not fair!” Miguel declared, looking up at Marco for support. “Tell her it’s not fair!” 

“Hush Miguel!” Mama Imelda said, stepping up with the still glowing petal. “Your brother knows how this family feels about music! Do you see him messing about with music behind his family’s back? You should follow his example!”

Marco was starting to feel very uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. “Um, Mama Imelda...don’t you think it’s a little, um...not quite in the spirit of family to send him back with so many conditions? I mean, shouldn’t we want to help eachother out...unconditionally...if you’ll...pardon the..pun?” Marco finished lamely as Mama Imelda’s glare bored into him.

“I know you’re trying to be an understanding brother Marco.” Mama Imelda said, her voice kindly, but firm as granite. “But there is no place in this family for music! It has been nothing but trouble for us! I will not let one of my grandsons go down the same path that musican did! Miguel either goes home my, or no way.”

There was a very long, very tense pause before Marco spoke again, and this time, all of the charm and cajoling in his voice was gone. “I’m sorry...what?”

“I said he either goes home my way or--”

“I heard what you said.” Marco cut in, stepping in front of Miguel as if to shield him from Imelda’s view. “But I’m not quite sure that I grasped the meaning. Did you honestly just say that you’d rather let my brother d--” (Marco choked on the word die) “-- get stuck here, rather then let him play music?”

Mama Imelda’s eyes widened, whether at the accusation or the fact that someone had dared to question her, Marco didn’t know. And he didn’t care. This whole exchange had only reaffirmed the revelation that he’d had earlier that night. He had to get himself and Miguel away from this stifling family. 

“Marco I-I’m sure that wasn’t what Mama Imelda ment at all!” One of the twins said hastily, and the rest of the family was quick to agree, assuring him that she had Miguel’s best interest at heart, that her conditions were totally reasonable. . Inwardly Marco rolled his eyes. Once a Rivera, always a Rivera it seemed, even in death. None of these people were going to give Miguel a blessing that went against Imelda’s wishes. Well fine, there had to be another way to break this dumb curse...If they needed a family blessing, well there had to be lots of family from Riveras who’d married in that they could ask...true he didn’t know any of their names, they didn’t really come around for holidays what with the music ban...still, this was a family reunions office. They had to have lists of people here right? Hey, maybe he could even find his--

“Con permiso!--” Miguel interrupted, breaking into Marco’s train of thought and the growing agitation filling the room. “I uh, I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back!” He began quickly backing towards the door, tugging Marco along with him. “Marco, you come with me so I don’t get lost ok?”  
“Uh, ok.”   
And with Dante following close behind, Miguel slammed the door behind them.   
***  
The two brother’s sprinted through the building, dodging skeletons left and right, Dante galloping at their heels. Miguel had pulled his hoodie over his head again, and Marco had slipped on his mask. “You need to use the restroom?” He asked with muffled exasperation, as they rounded another corner “What sort of dumb excuse was that? They probably don’t even have restrooms here!” Above them, a PA speaker suddenly sounded out an alert about being on the lookout for two living boys. “Well, they certainly didn’t waste any time did they? The restroom. How have you lived with me for twelve years and not learned anything about excuse making? And where are we going?!” 

But before Miguel could answer, he was spotted by a patrol officer. “Hey! I found one of those living boys!” The skeleton called into his walkie talkie. Marco gracefully executed tripping over his still-completely tied shoelaces and fell right into the officer, scattering him across the platform. Bouncing back to his feet, he quickly grabbed Miguel’s hand and pulled him into a crowd of passing skeletons, cutting them off from sight, while the skull of the officer angrily called after them. Marco looked around frantically for somewhere they could hide, before Miguel pointed (with his increasingly skeletal finger) towards a sideroom door. Ducking in to it, Dante rolling in after them like a sausage on skiddle, they managed to close the door before anyone else saw them.

“So what exactly is the plan here?” Marco hissed, crouching down next to a heavily breathing Miguel. “Because you putting us on the lam has really cut into my plan to find somebody else to get a blessing from.”

“But that’s my plan too!” Miguel whispered back excitedly. 

“Oh, and who exactly did you have in mind?” Marco grumbled while trying to look through the crack of the door.

“Ernesto De la Cruz!”

Marco turned to look at Miguel as though he’d sprouted wings. 

“What?”

Miguel pulled the torn photo out of his jacket, pointing at the guitar. “If we wanna be musicians, we need a musician’s blessing. And De la Cruz is our great-great grandpa!”  
Marco usually prided himself on being quick on the uptake, always being able to juggle multiple situations at once. So it was a pretty big cut to his pride when he realized that with everything that had been happening, his secrets being exposed, being cursed by a guitar, running around with skeletons, he’d completely forgotten that little detail.  
“Oh...oh yeah…” He said sheepishly, looking at the photo with new respect. Huh, Ernesto De la Cruz with Mama Imelda...well, it’s no surprise it didn’t last.

“Ok. So we gotta find De la Cruz. Sure, I can work that. The only question is, how?”

“Well, we--wait! Dante! No!” 

Miguel began crawling after the dog, who was rapidly wriggling away into another room. Marco sighed and followed after them. “The rest of this night better not just be us following this dumb dog…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! A day early cuz my compter's having some battery trouble, but it should be ok. Hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment, and thanks to all the people who've left Kudos!
> 
> ...the note from the first chapter is still there, isn't it?


	6. A Feeling So Close...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days early again.Having to upload from the library computer since my charge cord has bitten the dust and is apparently the hardest charge cord to find in existence...sigh. But anyway, hope you all enjoy! Thanks for all of the kudos and comments!

This whole night was turning into a string of incredible coincidences. First, there was Miguel _just_ _happening_ to find out about being related to De la Cruz, on the _one day_ of the year that stealing the man’s guitar would _just happen_ to curse them, and now, when they needed to find him, they _just happened_ to overhear a skeleton who claimed to know him.

 

Marco wasn’t sure if all this made him feel more optimistic about their future adventures, or horribly on edge. Either way, he wasn’t too keen beating their chances on someone who apparently had a rap sheet as long as he was tall, and was obviously a terrible liar. And he told Miguel so.

 

Miguel, per the norm of the night, paid no attention to Marco’s objections, and went running after the skeleton almost as soon as he’d been let out of the office.

 

“Hey, hey! You really know De la Cruz?”

 

“ Who wants to kn---AH! You’re  _ alive! _ ”

 

Marco, racing after Miguel, had to fight the urge to facepalm once again when he saw Miguel tackle the skeleton into a phonebooth.  _ Yeah, let’s just add more assault and battery into our list of crimes tonight.  _ He flung open the door to find Miguel trying to explain their predicament to the petrified skeleton, who was doing his best to keep away from Miguel as much as the small space allowed. 

 

“Yeah I'm alive. And if me--” Miguel looked up to see that Marco had joined him “--and my brother, wanna get back to the Land of the Living, we need De la Cruz's blessing. Um, my brother’s alive too.” Miguel added, jerking a thumb in Marco’s direction.

 

“I noticed.” The skeleton observed casting a glance at Marco, long enough to see that his “face” was a mask and shuddering at the sight. “And that’s a weirdly specific need.” 

 

“He’s our great-great grandfather.” Marco explained, pulling up his mask  so he could look the skeleton properly in the face. He hoped this would be seen as a gesture of good will. No need to freak the poor man out any further, especially if he actually could help them, though Marco still doubted it. To his surprise, the skeleton actually jumped, looking at Marco’s face as though he was seeing a ghost. 

 

There was a tense moment of silence before the skeleton murmured, “Huh, well, can't say I'm surprised…”

 

Then suddenly a new thought seemed to come to the skeleton’s mind, and he began rapidly muttering: “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait, wait... Wait, no, wait, wait, wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait?  _ Yes _ ! You're going back to the Land of the Living?!”

 

The brothers stared at him, before Miguel turned to Marco and whispered, “Ok, maybe you were right and this wasn’t a good idea--”

 

But the skeleton quickly cut him off. “NO! Ninos, ninos, ninos! I can help you! You can help me. We can help each other! But most importantly, you can help  _ me _ !”

 

Just then, Miguel nudged Marco’s side, and he turned to see the Dead Riveras and several security officers hurrying down a staircase, straight towards the booth they were hiding in.

“Well at least you’re honest about your motivations.” Marco said quickly, slipping his mask back on and shaking the skeleton’s outstretched hand. “I’m Marco, this is Miguel, the walking sausage is Dante and we’re on a tight timetable so let’s go.”

 

“I’m Hectooooo--” the skeleton, Hector, began before Marco yanked both him and Miguel out of the phone booth and down the corridor. They’d almost made it down the steps of the front door when Miguel suddenly cried out, “Hey!”, and pointed at Marco’s hand. Marco looked down to realize that he was currently carrying an  _ arm,  _ which was rapidly motioning back towards the steps, where Hector was hurrying after them. With a shudder Marco tossed the arm back at its owner, who caught it and expertly popped it back into place. Grabbing Miguel’s hand so that they wouldn’t be seperated in the crowd, Marco dove into the mass of skeletons mingling outside the door, Hector, and of course Dante, following behind. 

 

“So can I ask exactly  _ why  _ we’re running?” Hector asked as he caught up with the boys.

 

“Well,” Marco began, wondering how much information he could safely share with their new, obviously shady ally. “ Let’s just say we’re not on the best terms with the Dept. right now.” He finished vaguely, thinking of the security guard he’d bowled over. 

 

Hector laughed dryly. “Boy, I know that feeling. Well hey, if I might make a suggestion,  _ you _ seem to have dressed for the part, but your hermano here could use a touch up--” And suddenly he slipped off to the side, ducking beneth the cover of a foot bridge. Marco and Miguel had to skid to a stop before they could turn to follow him, nearly knocking each other over.

 

“What...  _ exactly _ do you have in mind?” Marco asked, looking around the dark space warily. He still wasn’t sure if they could trust Hector, and being under a bridge with nobody else around to see if they got jumped wasn’t doing much for his nerves. He could probably take out Hector if he needed to, but he didn’t want to try his luck with a whole gang of skeletons.

 

Hector however started rummaging in around in his tattered coat. “I know I put those somewhere...Aha!” Hector flashed a triumphant smile as he  pulled two cans of shoe polish out of seemingly nowhere. 

 

“I was known to do a pretty fair cavalera back in my day. Sit yourself here chamaco.” He went on, motioning for Miguel to sit on one of the empty crates strewn about. Miguel did so, and Hector began rapidly applying the shoe polish. Marco held back a wince, he was pretty sure shoe polish was not meant for human skin, but Hector did seem to be doing a good job…

 

“Why are you carrying shoe polish around if you don’t have any shoes?” He asked skeptically, sitting down on the crate next to Miguel to watch.

 

“Hey, I’ve learned to take what fortune throws at me muchacho.” Hector said with a wave, which was followed by a wince of pain as a slightly cracked bone on his arm grated from the movement. “Or in my case what angry women with shoe-polish in their hands throw at me.”

 

“Bad date huh?” Marco asked, unable to keep back a smirk.

 

“Eh, something like that. Hey, hey, hold still.” Hector said as Miguel squirmed a little on the box. “Look up. Look up. A ver, a ver... look up. Up....  _ Ta-da _ !  Dead as a doorknob.” He finished with a flourish, whipping out a small mirror so that Miguel could take a look. “Heh, not bad.” Marco agreed, smiling a little as Miguel tested out his new face in the mirror.

 

“Oh, thank you for your endorsement, I’ll be sure to tell all my future customers that Ernesto De la Cruz’s great-great grandson actually appreciates my work.” Hector quipped with roll of his eyes. “You could use some better camouflage too muchaco.” He said, motioning at Marco’s uncovered mouth. Marco rolled his eyes back, but obliged by holding still as Hector ran some black lines over his jaw. 

“So listen ninos,” Hector said as he finished, putting the shoe polish back in his pocket. “ This place runs on memories. When you're well remembered, people put up your photo and you get to cross the bridge and visit the living on Día de Muertos. Unless you're  _ me _ .”

 

“You don’t get to cross over?” Miguel asked, with some sympathy. He always did have a thing for the underdog, Marco thought, even scruffy, shady ones.

 

“No one's ever put up my picture.” Hector confirmed, “But you two can change that!” From his seemingly limitless, though unseen, coat pockets, Hector now pulled out an ancient black and white photo of a young man, presumably Hector in the flesh, though it looked more like a scarecrow trying to take a glamour shot.

 

“This is...you?” Miguel asked slowly.

 

“Muy guapo eh?” Hector said, mimicking the grin in the photo. 

 

“It’s very...distinct.” Marco said, as casually as he could, tucking the photo inside of his suit.

Hector’s grin faded. “Well we can’t all look like Mr. Moviestar can we?” He asked, waving a hand at Marco. Marco frowned at that, this guy obviously had some issues. Besides, De la Cruz wasn’t even his blood relative. But before Marco  could jump back with a quip of his own Miguel cut him off.

 

“So if you get us to our great-great grandpa, and then we put up your photo when we get home?”

 

“Such a smart boy!” Hector said, applauding. “ Yes! One hiccup, De la Cruz is a tough guy to get to. And I need to cross that bridge soon, like  _ tonight _ . Soooo, you guys got any other family? Someone a bit more... accessible?”

 

The brothers shared a look before replying: 

 

“Nope.”

 

“Just us.”

 

“Marco and Miguel.”

 

“Miguel and Marco.”

 

“And De la Cruz.” They finished together.

 

Hector raised a nonexistent eyebrow at this answer. “Seriously, you expect me to believe that you don’t have  _ any _ other family?”

 

“You expect us to believe you somehow know De la Cruz.” Marco shot back impassively, eyeing Hector’s shabby appearance as pointedly as he could. “If that’s not the case, we’ll just have to find him ourselves. I mean, this looks like a big city, I’m sure we’ll be able to find somebody to help us. Hope you’ll be able to find some other living kids willing to help you. Come on Miguel.” 

 

Lifting himself from the crate, Marco wrapped an arm around Miguel’s shoulder and began leading him out from beneath the bridge. Dante gave a whine before getting up to follow, his head swinging back and forth between them and a sputtering Hector. Apparently he’d taken a liking to the skeleton, but then he was a dog, he was probably in dog heaven right now surrounded by all these bones.

 

“But he said he had front-row tickets to De la Cruz’s show!”  Miguel protested as Marco lead him out into the light of the street. “How are we gonna find somebody else whose got those?”

 

“Maybe he does, and maybe he doesn't.” Marco whispered, keeping his face ahead and his posture casual. “Either way, if we’re gonna work with him I want it to be on _ our _ terms. Now, just keep walking, and three...two...one…”

 

“Ok ok ok!” Hector called from behind, bounding up to them with a look of annoyance mixed with desperation on his skull. “Fine, fine! I'll get you to De la Cruz!” 

 

He shot Marco a look as the boys stopped to let him catch up and muttered. “Ay, _ you _ are  _ definitely  _ Ernesto’s great-great-grandson.” 

 

Marco flashed him his best “De la Cruz” grin in reply, and had to stifle a laugh as the skeleton rolled his eyes in disgust. He’d always been able to pull off that look better than Miguel had, which was ironic, now that they knew Miguel was actually related to the man. Funny how things worked out sometimes.

 

“It’s not going to be easy you know.” Hector went on as he took the lead, ushering them into a crowded walkway. “He’s a busy man and--what are you doing?”

 

Marco looked over where Miguel was shambling along like a zombie with a nervous twitch. 

“I’m walking like a skeleton!” 

 

“Skeletons don’t walk like that!”

 

“That’s how you walk!”

 

“No I don--stop it!”

 

“Alright, alright,” Marco cut in, stepping between the two. But Miguel’s attention was suddenly caught by something and he straightened up, running to peer over a balcony. 

 

“Marco! Look at this!” he cried, bouncing with excitement. Below them was a huge, glowing advertisement for:  _ Ernesto de la Cruz's Sunrise Spectacular! _

 

“Ugh.” Hector groaned as he joined them. “Every year, your great- great grandpa puts on that dumb show to mark the end of Día de Muertos.”

“Which you have tickets for,  _ right? _ ” Marco asked, fixing Hector with his best imitation of Mama’s “And you better tell truth this time” stare. Hector, to Marco’s annoyance, winced as guiltily as any Rivera child caught in a fib ever had.

 

“You said you had front row tickets!” Miguel cried, looking both angry and a little hurt. Marco was surprised to see Hector actually looked a little ashamed when faced with Miguel’s disappointment. He was even more surprised to hear the man apologize to Miguel for lying. Apparently he had something of a heart...metaphorically speaking. Still, he obviously wasn’t going to be of much help to them now.

 

“Well thanks for the face-paint at least.” Marco said with a huff, reaching out for Miguel. “We’ll be on our way--”

 

“No! No! I can still get you to him chamacos!”

 

“How?” The brothers asked together, witheringly. 

 

Hector winced again, before pulling himself back up and declaring with a flourish, “Because I happen to know where he’s rehearsing!”  His confident stance wavered as he noticed their skeptical looks. “I’m serious!” 

 

“How do you know where he’s rehearsing?” Marco asked, crossing his arms like Papa did whenever he or Miguel had been caught slacking off on their homework.

 

“Because when I used to work as a tour guide my route went past his studios all the time!” Hector said, smugly, before his face fell as he added:  “Until his security told me the tour was violating his “creative privacy” and blocking traffic and a bunch of other stuff, and for old times sake I decided to respect his wishes--and then the  business went bust because all anybody wants to see in this dumb city is De la Cruz…” 

 

_ Ah. So that's why his problem with De la Cruz. _ Marco thought with a grimace of guilt. On the one hand, he knew how annoying tourists and tour guides could be, having had to put up with them himself all the time at Mariachi Plaza, so he could see where De la Cruz was coming from. Still, it did seem pretty hard luck that Hector had lost his business…

 

“...Ok, so where is this place?” Marco asked, leaning against the balcony with a sigh. He hoped it wasn’t too far, he didn’t think he could handle anymore complications.

 

Some of Hector’s bravado returned when he realized the boys were going to stick around. “It’s just up this street and then around a couple of blocks! In the Arts District, great place, you’ll love it! Follow me muchachos, and I’ll have you with your great-great grandpa before the paint can dry on his garish sets! ”

 

Marco rolled his eyes at the jab, but straightened up and started walking after Hector, slinging an arm around Miguel as they went. 

 

“So...what do you do now?” Marco asked as they headed down the walk way. “I mean, now that you’re not doing tours anymore?”

 

“I-uh-I’m currently between jobs…” Hector said nonchalantly. “Actually, I’ve been between jobs for a while…”

 

“Ah. Is that why you live under a bridge?”

 

“I DO NOT LIVE UNDER THAT BRIDGE!” 

 

**Imelda Interlude**

Imelda was having a very bad night. First the trouble with the bridge, then her great-great grandson’s getting themselves cursed, Miguel wanting to play music, Marco arguing with her, and now  _ both  _ of them were lost. Once Pepita found them, she’d be taking her shoe to both their backsides before sending them home.

 

The trouble was, Pepita had nothing to track them  _ with _ . If one of them had just dropped something! But Miguel hadn’t even touched the cempasúchil petal. This set back severely cut into the efficiency of their search. “We’ll have to split up.” Imelda declared, gathering her family around her to plan. “Oscar and Felipe, you two check the Crafts District; Julio and Rosita, the city center; Victoria, you stay here incase the police bring any word.”

 

Privately, Imelda doubted the authorities would be of much help, they were already heavily involved in policing the traffic and trouble surrounding Dia de los Muertos, but it paid to be sure. “Pepita will search from above and find us if she sees them.”

 

“What about you Imelda?” One of the twins asked, looking concerned about her being left alone. Honestly, she was going after two children, not a murderer. She’d be fine, though highly uncomfortable, considering where she intended to search.

 

“I...will be checking the Arts District.”

 

The gasp from her family couldn’t have been louder then if she’d announced she’d bought them all tickets to the De la Cruz Sunrise Spectacular.

 

***

The Arts District was like nothing Marco had ever seen, or rather heard. Everywhere he turned there was music, spilling from wide, colorful windows, pouring from brightly lit doorways from which he could see skeletons dancing and singing along. Marco had never heard so much music, had never even imagined the variety of sound that the world could contain. It was as if he’d been starving his whole life without realizing, only to be dropped in the middle of an-all-you can-eat-buffet. He could tell that the place was having the same effect on Miguel.  It was breathtaking, intoxicating. Marco wanted to stop and sample each rhythm that they passed, but Hector was hurrying along without a glance to the right or left.

 

“Keep up chamacos! We’re almost there!” He called, waving a hand to get the boys moving when they’d paused to watch a pair of skeletons samba by a dance hall window. He led them to the side of a large warehouse, and using one of his arms as an arrow shot it towards a window on the third story, where the hand latched onto the windowsill. Marco had to admit, as creepy as all this limb popping was, that was pretty cool. 

Moments later an annoyed looking lady skeleton with horn rimmed glasses was glaring down at them, brandishing the animated arm at Hector like a sword. “You’d better have my dress Hector!” She called as she dropped the fire escape ladder to let them up. Marco noticed the grimace that passed over Hector’s face at the mention of the dress, and couldn’t help but smirk. He had a feeling this sort of thing happened frequently with Hector, and he wasn’t disappointed when an argument immediately broke out once Hector admitted he had, in fact, lost the dress. Marco wondered vaguely if this was the shoe-polish throwing girlfriend. From the way she was going at Hector, he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

 

Marco tuned out the argument that Hector was rapidly losing to look around the room they’d entered. The lady skeleton, Ceci, was a seamstress apparently, and her studio was filled with all sorts of half finished outfits and costumes, of all shapes and sizes. Some of them actually looked rather familiar--

 

“Hey! Is this De la Cruz’s costume from ‘A Quien Yo Amo’?” He asked excitedly, breaking into the argument. 

 

Ceci, her anger at Hector finally spent, or at least calmed,  turned to look at him with interest. “Yes actually, well, a replica. It was part of the Fifty Years of De la Cruz celebration. I’m impressed you could tell which film it was from so easily.”

 

“Heh, I’ve probably watched it over a hundred times,it’s...kinda my favorite.” Marco admitted, feeling a little embarrassed at the admission. He must sound like he had no social life whatsoever. But it was true, the movie was his favorite. There was one line in particular that had always resonated with him, from the moment he’d heard it: “ I have to sing. I have to play. The music, it's -- it's not just  _ in _ me. It  _ is _ me.” That was how he’d always felt. He’d just never had an opportunity to release that feeling…

 

He shook himself out of his revere, but Ceci hadn’t seemed to notice, she was motioning towards the costume, explaining the design and history behind it, while Hector looked like he was stuck between relief that she wasn’t yelling at him, and annoyance that she was going on about De la Cruz.

 

“ It was starting to get a little frayed and--nino what have you done to your sleeve?”

 

Marco looked down at his arm, remembering  the rip from earlier, in his fight with Papa...that all seemed like a lifetime ago now…

 

“Here, sit down and I’ll patch it for you.” 

 

Beneath his half-mask and shoepolish, Marco’s face blanched. The moment she touched his arm she’d feel the muscle beneath, and that would bring a whole slew of questions they didn’t need. 

 

“Oh, um, thank you senora, that’s very kind but we’re in a bit of a rush.” He said quickly, covering the sleeve with his gloved hand. “See, my brother and I--”

 

He stopped suddenly. Wait a minute…

 

“Miguel!” Marco cried, looking about frantically. But the boy was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Dante,  _ presupuesto _ . Hector shot up as well, looking worried. With a quick apology to Ceci they rushed out of the room together, calling out Miguel’s name.

 

“Why didn’t you keep an eye on him!” Marco cried as they ran down the hall, opening door after door to the annoyance of the occupants.

 

“He’s your brother! Why weren’t  _ you _ keeping an eye on him?” Hector shot back.

 

“Well--you’re the adult!” Marco replied, mentally kicking himself for such a lame comeback.

 

“Oh sure, blame the dead guy! Look, it’s not my fault if you can’t take care of  your own--”

 

“Hey!” Marco cut in, skidding to a stop so that he could turn and face Hector, anger blazing in his eyes and voice. This was like Tio Berto and Papa all over again, and he wasn’t going to stand for it a second time. “I  _ do _ take care of him! I’ve been taking care of him since I was four years old! You don’t know a thing about me, or him, or what we’ve had to put up with in our lives, so you don’t get to criticize, ok?”

 

Hector was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, as thought some new thought had just occurred to him.

 

“...You’re right.”

 

“And another thing! I--wait, what?”

 

“I said you’re right.” Hector repeated, rubbing at his neck bone with a chagrined look. “I-I don’t know what you’ve been through...if- if it’s really just you two like you say then...well it wasn’t fair of me to say what I did. I just--I guess you just remind me--ah, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. Pardoneme?” He asked, holding out a hand.

 

To tell the truth, Marco had been expecting Hector to fire right back at him, like he’d been doing all night, or get after him for talking back to an adult, like any of his family would have. This-this was so completely unexpected that for a moment Marco could only stare at Hector. But finally, slowly, because he was still a bit sore about it, but also kind of touched by the apology--Marco shook Hector’s offered hand. “Sure...and...I’m sorry too. It’s not your job to look after--”

At that moment, they both heard the distinct bark of a xolo dog.

 

“Miguel!”

 

Rushing around one last corner, Marco found Miguel staring up at a mannequin on a platform, illuminated by a spotlight.

“Miguel!” Marco called out in relief. “ What were you thinki---what the  _ what _ …?” His voice trailed off as his eye caught sight of a giant  _ unibrowed _ cactus, but Miguel didn’t seem to notice. 

 

“Marco! De la Cruz isn’t here! He’s at some party all the way across town!”

 

“What?!”

 

Marco whirled around to glare at Hector, who was nervously skirting around what looked like the  _ real  _ Frida Kahlo. “You said he’d be here!” He whispered angrily, not wanting a real celebrity to hear their renewed argument “Or was that a lie too?”

 

“He’s supposed to be!” Hector hissed back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, before looking out at the window towards a huge, illuminated white tower and grumbling, “Ay, that bum! Who doesn’t show up for his own rehearsal? Hey, Gustavo.” Hector called , turning to where several orchestra skeletons were tuning their instruments. “You know anything about this party?”

 

A squat skeleton with the worst beard Marco had ever seen smirked at Hector. “It’s the hot ticket, But if you're not on the guest list you're never getting in,  _ Chorizo.” _

 

The rest of the musician skeletons burst into laughter at this last word, and began catcalling it back at Hector, who shrunk a little into himself even as he tried to appear unconcerned with their taunts.

 

“Chorizo?” Miguel asked, looking at Hector with confusion.

 

“Oh this guy’s famous!” the squat skeleton chortled, waving his violin bow in Hector’s direction. “Go on, ask him how he died!” 

 

The boys turned towards Hector, who only shrugged and tried to keep from answering, but the squat skeleton, Gustavo, ignored this and exclaimed “He  _ choked  _ on some chorizo!” which sent the other skeletons into renewed peals of laughter.

 

“I didn’t choke ok!” Hector said, sounding a little bit desperate, as though he’d had this same conversation hundreds of times. “I got food poisoning! It’s a big difference!”

 

The skeletons, lead by Gustavo, only laughed harder.

 

Marco’s dislike of this group was growing by the minutes. Gustavo in particular reminded him of Leon from primaria, who had made it his life’s mission to tell every kid at school Marco that had tried to befriend about the crazy music-hating Riveras. It had taken Marco years to make any headway socially, and to this day Leon would still give him grief whenever they bumped into each other. Some people never grew out of being jerks, and  apparently this skeleton had  _ died  _ one.

 

“Well at least he can blame his death on something external,” Marco said smoothly, cutting into the laughter like a knife through butter. “ Unlike some people, who probably took one look in the mirror and died of embarrassment.” 

 

The laughter on Gustavo’s faced died away instantly, and the rest of the skeletons, including Hector, stared at Marco opened mouthed. “I mean, do you actually think that neck-beard looks good, or where you blind in life?” Marco continued, falling into stride.He heard Miguel stifle a giggle, and noticed that some of the other skeletons looked like they were trying to as well. Good, the tables where turning. 

 

“But maybe nobody told you, those things haven’t been in since--oh wait, they’ve never been in. Just like that color combo you’ve got going on.”

 

The skeletons were definitely tittering now. Marco had the feeling that if Gustavo had still had skin, he would have been beet red. Hector was just staring at Marco, too stunned to speak.

 

“And I notice that  _ you’re _ here instead of at the party, but your scarf was probably deemed too garish to warrant an invitation, I mean, it’s so loud nobody would be able to hear De la Cruz sing!”

 

Gustavo’s fellow skeletons were trying in vain to hold back their laughter, and even Hector choked back a snort. Marco beamed, and tipped an imaginary hat at the seething Gustavo. “Hey, better to be chorizo then  _ ano de la pera  _ amigo.”

 

The skeleton’s fell of their chairs in utter abandon. Miguel descended into a fit of giggles, Hector was holding his sides, even Dante was wheezing appreciatively. And Gustavo was seething.

 

“Augh, who are you anyway?” He hissed with another dismissive wave of his bow, “ You aren’t at De la Cruz’s party either. You one of Chorizo’s trashy  _ olvidados _ friends?”

 

Marco wasn’t sure of the context, but he knew something incredibly rude had been said by the way the skeletons fell into a hush, and how Hector’s face instantly slide from merry to furious. Luckily, Marco had a feeling he knew just which card to play against whatever insult had been thrown at him, even if it was, technically, a bit of a lie.

 

“I don’t need an invitation” He said simply, flashing his absolute best De la Cruz smile. “I’m Marco De la Cruz. Ernesto’s my great-great grandfather.”

 

Gustavo stared up at him with a thunderstruck face, before laughing nervously. “Ah, who do you think you’re kidding kid?  _ You’re _ De la Cruz’s grandson? Yeah, and I’m Montezuma’s niece.” A smirk crept back onto Gustavo’s face, “ But hey, maybe you could try that line at the party gate, who knows, they might just believe you. Hey, maybe you could even try  _ singing _ your way in! If you’re really a De la Cruz I bet you’ve got a great set of pipes!” He was positively chortling now, probably imagining Marco being thrown out on his rear by a bouncer the instant he opened his mouth.

 

Marco was too angry to be embarrassed by what he did next, or to even really think about what he was doing. All he knew was he going to teach this guy a lesson, because nobody,  _ nobody  _ got to laugh at him. Not Leon Valdez, and definitely not some pipsqueak skeleton with a neckbeard. So Marco’s only response to Gustavo’s taunt was to smile coldy, place his hands on his hips, and burst into  song.

 

“ _ A feeling so close you could reach out and touch it, I never knew I could want something so much but it’s true _ …”

 

It was a flawless rendition of the title song of  _ A Quien Yo Amo _ . It was Marco’s favorite song to practice, even more then Remember Me, and he knew every note, every vocal trill and slide by heart. True, his voice wasn’t as deep or resonate as De la Cruz, but he knew when to give a lyric the same intensity, or tenderness that De la Cruz did in the movie. The acoustics of the room bounced the small snippet of song around with a vibrancy that thrilled Marco to his core. He’d never heard his own voice in this way before, it almost carried him away to sing the whole thing...but that would have spoiled the effect. His point had been made. Maybe he wasn’t De la Cruz’s biological great-grandson, but he could sing just as well as if he was. And he could tell from the look on Gustavo’s face that the skeleton knew it too.

 

“Well, if you’ll excuse us,” Marco said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just managed to spellbind everyone in the room with a single chorus. “We’ve got a very busy night ahead of us, so well leave you to get back to practicing. Or shaving, as the case may be.” He finished with a final dig at the still stuttering Gustavo. Throwing an arm around a beaming Miguel and a stunned looking Hector, Marco started leading them towards the door when one of the female skeletons called out after him.

 

“Hey, I don’t know if you really are De la Cruz’s grandson, but you should definitely try out for his music competition. The winner gets to play at his party, and with a voice like that you’re sure to win!”

 

Marco shot a look at Miguel, who was grinning widely at hearing this announcement. “What ya think hermanito?”

 

“Yeah! We should do it!”

 

“Oh, no no no.” Hector cut in, shrugging Marco’s arm off of his shoulder . “This is the biggest music competition of the year, you are loco if you think that--”

 

“We need to get our great-great grandfather’s blessing.” Miguel said, holding up his skeletal hands as a reminder. “Do you know where we could get a guitar?”

Hector’s mouth tightened, and Marco could see they were making headway.

 

“Come on Teto,” Marco said cajolingly, teasing Hector with the nickname the same way he sometimes teased Abel by calling him Abelito. “How can you say no to this face?” He asked, squishing Miguel’s cheeks slightly while Miguel made absolutely devastating puppy-dog eyes.

 

Hector made a sigh of disgust. “First of all, do  _ not  _ call me that.” He said, pointing at Marco with a frown. “And second,” he said, turning to Miguel, “ Don’t try that look on me, I was doing that “sweet little brother act” since before you were born. And thirdly…” he gave another deep sigh, as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say, “Yeah, I know a guy.”

 

He turned to lead them out of the building, and Marco and Miguel exchanged a high-five behind his back. “Hurry up chamacos, we’ve got a bit of walk ahead of us.”

Marco noticed Miguel grimacing a little at this. They had been walking, or rather, running, a lot tonight, and it was way past Miguel’s normal bedtime; he was probably getting tired.

 

“Here,” Marco said, bending down so that Miguel could climb on his back. “Take abreak.”

 

“You sure?” Miguel asked as he climbed on.

 

“Oh please, you probably weigh as much as Hector does, esquelito.”

 

Miguel giggled, wrapping his arms around Marco’s neck as the older boy hosited him up. His skeletal fingers were cold where they brushed Marco’s skin, and the reality of his joke made a pit in his stomach. He hoped wherever they had to go wasn’t to far, andhe wished that he had thought to bring a watch with him. How much longer  did they have until sunrise? 

 

But he couldn’t think of that now. Right now he had to focus on the plan that would get them home...or at least, get them out of here alive. Because the more that he experienced the vibrancy and the music of the Land of the Dead, the more he was certain that he never wanted to go back to the dullness and quiet of life in Santa Cecilia.

 

He just hoped that Miguel would agree with him once he told him his plan. But right now the boy was telling him all about how Frida Kahlo had said he had the spirit of an artist, and he wouldn’t have interrupted for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " ser año de la pera" means to be out of style, and I was so happy to find a food related idiom to throw back at Gustavo's use of chorizo...  
> which I learned interestingly enough is also part of an idiom related to being a thief...hmm, I might have to use that later...
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment if you're enjoying the story! And thanks again for reading!


	7. Well Everyone Knows Juanita...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So something new this time, this whole chapter is from Hector's point of view, I felt like I needed to show what was going on his head to better set up some upcoming events. So without further ado, here you go!

**Imelda Interlude**

Imelda was not happy. Not happy at all. Wandering the Arts District, having her heart blasted again and again by snatches of old songs she’d once sung and danced to without a care in the world, before her whole life fell apart, was not how she had pictured spending her holiday. And each passing minute that she had to spend there, without so much as a hint of the boys only added to her anger--and her anxiety for them. 

 

She hoped they were alright. At least they were together, she was sure of that. Though what could have possessed Marco to let Miguel run off like that was beyond her. But then, what could have possessed Miguel to start messing around with music? None of her other grandchildren or great-grandchildren or great-great grandchildren had shown any interest, at least not that she had noticed in all her years of visiting the family during Dia de los Muertos. In all honesty, if she’d have thought any of them would have been tempted by music, she would have picked Marco. But the boy had never given her a reason to doubt that he’d overcome his...unfortunate bloodline, and become a true Rivera. 

 

Still...the way he had looked at her in the office, the challenge in his eyes...He must have known about Miguel’s desire to be a musician before the boy had attempted to take the guitar. Just how long had this been going on? And what had prompted Miguel to try and take that guitar tonight of all nights? Was it simple curiosity from seeing it in her photo? If only she’d  _ cut  _ off that half instead of folding it over all those years ago! Just look where that--that--that  _ musician _ had gotten his-- _ her  _ great-great grandsons without him even having to be there, dead  _ or _ alive! 

But then, she’d always seen so much of him in Miguel. Little things in his voice, his mannerisms. They’d always been there, she’d just never wanted to admit that she’d seen them, anymore then she’d admit to seeing certain other resemblances in Marco…

 

But these thoughts were getting her nowhere, anymore then her visit to Ceci did. Her old friend remembered an older boy, but not a younger one. And that there had been something off about his face when she thought about it, but with Ceci’s eyesight that could mean anything. All she’d remembered was that he’d been a big De la Cruz fan, and that was certainly no great-great grandson of Imelda’s--at least she hoped so. Bad enough to be mixed up with music without falling prey to the siren songs of that--that-- Ugh, he wasn’t even worth thinking about.  Still, Imelda couldn’t shake the feeling that Ceci had left something out of her story, or possibly someone...

*******

Hector shook his head in wonder as he watched the two living boys. Ernesto’s great-great grandsons...True, Miguel didn’t look much like Ernesto,  actually, with how thin he was Miguel looked more like Hector himself.

 

But Marco--well if Hector had still had a heart when the boy had first pulled off his mask, he would have had a heart attack. He was slimmer then Ernesto had been at that age, and his eyes were a brighter color, but the resemblance was uncanny, and that voice... 

 

But those weren’t the only things. Watching the boys together was like looking into a mirror. Well, if the mirror looked into the past. The way Marco had Miguel hoisted on his shoulders, the way they bantered back in forth. It could have been a young Ernesto De la Cruz and Hector Rivera walking beside him. If he was guessing right, there was probably even the same age difference between them as him and Ernesto…

 

How’d had this happened? Well, Hector knew  _ how   _ it had happened, knowing Ernesto. But how had these two gotten themselves here in the first place? They kept going on about needing their great-great grandfather’s blessing to get back...their great-great grandfather who was apparently their only family. Hector had scoffed at that before, but what if it was true? He’d been in a similar position in life after all. No known family of his own, just the nuns, and then Ernesto, and then Imelda and Coco...but besides that...Well it wasn’t like there still weren’t orphans in the world after all. And the way Marco had spoken, as if it had been just him and Miguel against the world…

 

Hector shook his head, he shouldn't be worrying himself over all these questions. This was a business transaction, pure and simple. He’d get them to Ernesto, they’d put up his picture, and everyone would get what they wanted. Sure, Miguel was sweet kid, he even reminded him of Coco a little. And Marco had stood up for him, which was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. But then, Ernesto had used to stand up for him too, and everytime Hector looked at Marco’s face he remembered just what  _ else _ Ernesto did. Like, never telling Imelda that he'd died so that she refused to put up his photo in life or speak to him in death. Or, getting rich off his songs and never giving him credit. And especially, taking one special, secret song meant for one person and one person only and turn it into the most overplayed, overwrought cheesy love ballad of all time--

 

No, Hector knew better then to be burned again. The sooner he got this over with, the better for all of them. He just wished there was a way that didn’t involve any more music, especially not the De la Cruz talent show. He wasn’t sure his non-existent heart could handle hearing “Remember Me” getting slaughtered again and again. Of course, the boys had talked of little else but the talent show the entire walk.

 

“Why the heck would you wanna be  musicians?” Hector cut in as they neared the edge of the city. “You saw those guys back there, nothing but a bunch of self-important jerks.”

 

“Our great-great grandpa was a musician--.” Miguel began, sounding defensive. Hector just rolled his eyes. Like Ernesto wasn’t the poster child for the description he’d just given.

 

“Yeah, and he spent his life performing like a monkey for complete strangers. No thank you! Blech!” 

 

“In case you didn’t notice,” Marco said, lengthening his step to walk by Hector’s side, his eyes narrowed. “It was also a musician who got one of those self-important jerks off your back.”

 

“And I’m not saying seeing Gustavo taken down a few pegs wasn’t one of the highlights of my afterlife. But that little ditty back there, no matter how impressive, that wasn’t music. That was showing off.”

 

Marco and Miguel both burst into protests at this, but Hector waved their complaints aside. This was something he’d been wanting to say since he’d first heard Marco sing, and he felt that it was important. “ You sang back there because you wanted to prove you could. You sang because you wanted people to hear you, but a musician would sing because he loves the song he’s singing, and he wants other people to feel the same joy that he does. Until you understand that, well...you’ll just be another guy throwing his name around with nothing real to back it up with.”

 

The looks the boys were giving him now were still a bit skeptical, but there was a thoughtfulness there too. Hector didn’t know how far his attempted lesson would actually sink in, but at least he’d tried.

 

“You know, you seem to have thought about this an awful lot for somebody who claims to dislike music…” Marco mused, looking at Hector with newfound curiosity. 

 

“I never said I didn’t like music, just musicians.”

 

“Why? If you really knew De la Cruz what-”

 

“Oh look we’re here!” Hector cried, grateful for the chance to change the subject. The last thing he needed right now was to dredge up more painful memories, not when he already had one walking beside him. Taking the chance to put some distance between himself and the boys questions, he leapt from the rickety walkway they’d been traversing to the ancient steps below, landing in a heap of bones.

 

“Keep up chamacos!” He cried, with just a hint of mischief in his voice. Willing himself back together, he watched as the boys peered wide eyed at the drop below. Marco shook his head vigorously, muttered something that was probably questioning Hector’s sanity,  and dropped Miguel from his back so that they and Dante could begin slowly descending the ladder next to the walkway. By the time they’d made it down Hector had put himself back together, and was ready to lead them beneath the grimly decorated archway that lead into Shantytown.

 

The grimy, dusty town was lit by dozens of trashfires and the far away glow of the city, and though Hector had long become used to the dimness and squalor of the place, he could tell that the boys were nervous. Miguel’s hand had slid into Marco’s, and Marco was trying to watch every dark corner at once. Trying to alleviate their wariness, Hector called out gustily towards a group gathered around on the small fires.

 

“Hola amigos!”

 

“Cousin Hector!” The skeletons called back cheerfully, and Hector was happy to see that the friendly atmosphere surrounding them seemed to calm the boys worries somewhat. He called out and and received similar greetings as they passed through the flotilla of shacks and shanties towards their destination.

 

“Are all these people your family?” Miguel asked, hearing the shouts of “Primo! Tia! Tio!”

 

“Eh, in a way.” Hector explained as they passed another group. “We're all the ones with no photos or ofrendas, no family to go home to. Nearly forgotten, you know? So we all call each other cousin, or tío, or whatever.”

 

By now they’d reached Chicharron’s bungalow. Tia Chelo and some of her friends where gathered around a fire outside, swapping drinks and dealing cards. Hector greeted them, handing over a bottle he’d managed to swipe earlier, which was met with great enthusiasm.

 

“Is Chicharron around?” He asked, pouring himself two glasses. Hopefully if he went in with an offering Chicharron wouldn’t throw him out on his sacrum the moment he saw his face.

 

“In the bungalow. I don't know if he's in the mood for visitors…” Tia Chelo warned, squinting at the two boys and the xolo dog standing at the edge of the firelight. Hector quickly slapped on smile and ushered the boys towards the door, the sooner he got them out of here without any awkward questions asked the better. “Ah, who doesn’t love a visit from Cousin Hector?” He called with with a grin, blatantly ignoring the “Keep Out” signs.

 

The shack was just as cluttered as Hector remembered from his last visit, (which  _ had _ ended with him being thrown out), and Chicharron’s hammock was simply the hut in miniature. 

 

“Buenas Noches Chicharrón.” Hector said cheerfully, lifting a tattered hat from the clutter to reveal the older skeleton’s glaring skull. 

 

“I don’t want to see your stupid face Hector!” 

Hector winced a little at the slight, not because he hadn’t been expecting it, but because of the way the boys were looking on, half-embarrassed for him, half interested to see what else would happen. 

 

“C'mon, it's Día de Muertos! I brought you a little offering!” Hector tried again, holding up the shot glasses.

 

“Get out of here.” Chicharron growled, turning away into the clutter of his hammock.

 

Hector sighed, this was getting them nowhere, he needed to come to the point.

“I would, Cheech, but the thing is, me and my friends here,” He gestured to the boys, who were still hanging warily back, “We really need to borrow your guitar.”

 

Chicharron’s eyes shot open, and he clutched at the guitar like it was a precious child that Hector was trying to take from him . “My guitar?! My prize, beloved guitar?!”

 

“I promise we’ll bring it right back--”

 

“Like the time you promised to bring back my van?!”

 

To Hector’s embarrassment, but not surprise, the conversation rapidly devolved into Chicharron railing at him for all the things he’d lost over the years, half of which Hector was surprised Chicharron still remembered. It seemed to be his night for getting chewed out by old, sort of allies for losing their things. Chicharron, Ceci. It was a wonder really that either of them still talked to him, especially Ceci, considering she was friends with Imelda as well. But at least Ceci never mentioned his visits to her studio to Imelda, she prefered to stay out of family dramas, especially the Rivera family’s drama. 

 

“Where’s my femur you--” Chicharron was yelling--when suddenly his entire frame convulsed, racked with a sputtering, golden glow.

 

Oh no. no. no. no. Not Chicharron too…

 

“Hey...you ok amigo?” Hector asked softly, drawing closer, though he already knew the answer.

 

“I’m fading Hector…” Chicharron sighed, sinking down deeper into his hammock. “I can feel it. I couldn’t play this thing even if I wanted too...you play me something.” He finished, holding out the guitar to Hector.

 

Hector stared down at the instrument. He hadn’t held a guitar in years. Not since the last time he’d tried to serenade Imelda with her song, and she’d coldly slammed the door in his face, leaving him alone in the dark once more. He hadn’t had the heart to even look at a guitar for a long time after that. And now...

 

“You know I don't play anymore, Cheech…” He began, trying to find someway out of the request, “ The guitar's for the kids--”

 

“You want it, you got to earn it.”  The older skeleton replied, stubborn to the end.

 

Hector sighed, and reached for the guitar. The wood was smooth beneath his bones despite its age and use, and it didn’t need to much tuning to get it ready. Chicharron had kept it in good shape all these years. “Only for you amigo...any requests?”

 

“You know my favorite…”

 

Hector nodded, took a deep breath, and started to play. 

 

It was amazing how quickly the notes came to him, as though he’d never stopped playing. He’d almost forgotten how much he loved this feeling. How his whole being seemed to attune itself to the music, everything coming together: the strings, his fingers, his voice, like they’d always been meant to be brought together this way. Even with silly, bawdy song like--

 

“ _ Well everyone knows Juanita, her eyes each a different color. Her teeth stick out and her chin goes in and her _ \--”

 

Eyeing the two boys, (who were sitting and looking surprisingly enthralled by his performance, as if this were the first time they’d seen someone play a guitar), Hector made some hasty mental calculations on the lyrics of the song. 

 

“-- _ knuckles, they drag on the floor _ \--”

 

“Those aren’t the words” Chicharron hissed from his hammock. 

 

“There are children present.” Hector hissed back. He noticed that Marco looked a bit affronted by this. Though whether it was from being called a child or that he’d realized what the real lyric was Hector wasn’t sure. 

 

“ _ Her hair is like a briar, she stands in a bow-legged stance. And if I weren’t so ugly, she’d possibly give me a chance…” _

Hector finished the song, letting the last notes drift about the bungalow into the night. 

 

“Ahhh…” Chicharron sighed, sounding more contented then Hector had heard him sound in a long, long time. “Brings back memories...gracias…”

 

And then, with a last golden glow...he was gone.

Slowly, Hector raised himself up to offer a final toast to one more friend lost to time and memory. He’d known Cheech didn’t have long left, not with how old he was...but did it have to happen tonight, of all nights?

 

“W-wait..what happened?” Miguel asked, his voice small and confused. Hector turned to look at the boys. They were huddled together on a box, looking at the hammock that had once held Chicharron with great concern.  Hector sighed again. They were both too young for this, too young and too alive to be surround by all these reminders of their own mortality, and how fickle that could still be even after they’d left the mortal world…

 

“He's been forgotten.” Hector explained softly, “ When there's no one left in the living world who remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the Final Death."

 

“But...where’d he go?” Miguel pressed, and Hector wished he had an answer. “No  knows.” 

 

He was suddenly reminded of when he’d tried to explain death to Coco, when she’d found a dead bird behind their house. Explaining death to a child now that he was dead wasn’t any easier then it had been when he was alive.

 

“But we’ve met him…” Miguel went on, still staring at the hammock. “We could remember him when we go back…”

 

Hector smiled sadly at that. Miguel really was a good kid, with a big heart, bigger then he would have expected, all things considered. Hector was starting to wonder if maybe he’d been too quick to judge these kids, not everybody turned out like their family after all.

 

“No, it doesn't work like that, chamaco. Our memories... they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life, in the stories they tell about us. But there's no one left alive to pass down Cheech's stories…”

 

_ And almost no one left to pass on mine, either. _

 

Throughout this exchange, Marco hadn’t said a word, he’d simply been staring out into space, deep in thought, looking slightly disturbed. Hector wasn’t surprised by that really. Marco was older, death was more real to him then it was for Miguel... Yes, the sooner he got both of them out of here and back to the Land of the Living the better.

 

“Hey, it happens to everyone eventually.” Hector said, trying to sound more positive, spinning the event as a circle of life kind of thing. Changing the topic, he handed Miguel the guitar with said with a  small smile:

 

“ Come on De la Cruzitos, you’ve got a contest to win.”

***

He shuffled group out the door and back along the walkways as quickly as he could, waving hurried goodbyes to his Shantytown friends,  but it wasn’t until they were nearing the lights of the city once more that Marco finally spoke. 

 

“How--how much memory does it take to keep someone from--from fading away like that?” Marco whispered, falling behind Miguel and Dante, who were ambling ahead of the older two, Miguel chattering excitedly about the guitar to Dante. Hector couldn’t help but smile at the resilience of little kids, but he grew more serious when he saw the worry in Marco’s eyes as he asked the question. 

 

Hector shrugged, he’d often wondered that himself. Whatever memories Coco had of him, and considering the fact that she’d been three when he died there couldn’t be that many, they’d at least been strong enough to keep him here this long. “It depends on the strength of the memory I guess.”

 

“What if it’s just one memory?” Marco went on, his voice sounding strangely desperate. “What if, what if it’s only a song?”

 

Hector almost tripped over himself at hearing this. The question reminded him so much of his own situation, of his need to sing Coco her song, just one more time. He was sure that if she remembered anything of him, she’d remember that...at least, he hoped so.

 

“I...don’t know...it’s possible I guess” He said softly, his own hope that his words were true rising in him. “Songs can be powerful things. A song can reconnect people, cross oceans, travel through time...songs can be how we say I love you, I miss you...or beg for forgiveness...  ” He trailed off again, thinking of Imelda. Marco was still looking worried though. Hector thought for a moment, wondering if he even had the right to pry, but curiosity was getting the better of him. “If you don’t mind me asking..who--”

 

“My mom.” Marco said faintly, looking away from Hector and back towards the shadows of Shantytown. “I don’t even know if she’s dead or alive...or even why she…” He trailed of, but Hector’s imagination could fill in the rest. The image of a couple of orphans, descended from a one night stand that lead to several decades of similar occurrences, was becoming more and more real to him.

 

“But she’s still my mom you know…” Marco went on, turning away from the shadows and looking back at the lights of the city, “I wouldn’t want that to happen to her...I wish I could remember more…I was only three...”

 

Three years old...as old as his Coco had when he’d left...Hectot  hesitated a moment, then placed a bony hand on the boys shoulder. “That must have been hard...being alone can be hard…” He said, his voice warm with sympathy. 

 

Marco gave a shrug, but not hard enough to move Hector’s hand from his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess...but maybe it’s better to be alone...nobody to hold you back...nobody to disappoint you…or for you to disappoint...” 

 

Memories of an angry, tearful Imelda swarmed before Hector’s eyes. Yes, he knew how painful disappointing those you loved could be…

 

“Sometimes it can seem that way.” Hector agreed, keeping his hand on Marco’s shoulder as they walked along. “But take it from someone who’s been alone for a while, being with the people you care about, who care about you, being with family, no matter how small or different that family may be…” He looked meaningfully over to where Miguel was still playing with the guitar, Dante frisking happily about his heels, “That’s pretty hard to beat.”

 

Marco was giving him that appraisingly look again, but this time, there was a hint of respect in it. “You know, for a guy who claims he’s all alone, you seem to have thought a lot about this stuff too.” He said, the ghost of a smile coming back to his face.

 

Hector chuckled, remembering the similar remark about musicians from earlier. “Ah, who says I’m all alone? I’ve got all the fine folks back at Shantytown, Ceci still talks to me, though I can’t imagine why, I’m on first name basis with several of the security guards at the Bridge Crossing station, and now I’ve got you guys.”

 

For a moment, Hector  wondered if he’d overstepped himself. He’d added that last part without even really thinking about it. He’d just wanted the boy to know that he wasn’t alone. And there’d been the inkling of a thought that maybe, if he’d lived, and if Ernesto had done the honorable thing with whichever woman had been the boys ancestor...well, he’d have been an honorary uncle to them...though now that he thought about it the timeline wouldn’t have really worked out for that, and he’d probably would have still been dead at this point even if he hadn’t died back in 1921--

 

But Marco only smiled at him, a real smile this time, and whispered “Thanks Hector” as they strode fully back into the lights of the city.

 

None of them noticed a large, swooping shadow moving through the sky high above them. It’s eyes glowing vibrantly, searching for their quarry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, some of the most fun I have writing this thing is finding ways to bring in stuff from the deleted scenes. Sadly, I don't think that the bus-hijacking will make it into this fic, at least not as I've it planned so far...but who knows!


	8. What Color is the Sky...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters a little bit shorter, but there's a nice long one coming up :) But honestly this was one of my favorite chapters to write, so I hope you all enjoy it!

The contest was located at the Plaza de la Cruz, which was at the far end of the Arts District, near the city center. And as none of the group were really that enthusiastic about walking the entire way, not to mention the tight time table they were on, they’d hopped on the back of a passing tram car that was headed towards the plaza, though Marco was pretty sure doing so was illegal. Still, the view of the city from the sky-tram was spectacular; from this high he could see down to the ancient Aztec and Mayan buildings that formed the base of the city,  as well as look out over the shining sea of modern buildings climbing up towards the dark, endless sky. Marco wished that they had more time, he would have loved to explore every inch of this place, learning the history, hearing the music.

 

Currently, the only music he could hear was Hector as he tuned the guitar, showing Miguel some tips and tricks as he did so. Not that he minded, in fact, he was actually pretty impressed by Hector’s skill and knowledge, there was a lot more to the skeleton then he’d first thought.

 

“So how’d you learn to play guitar like that?” Marco asked, leaning against the rail of the tram and pulling the tangerines from his satchel. He was glad he’d thought to pack them, as he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and all this running had really worked up an appetite. 

 

“Yeah, I thought you said you hated musicians, you never said you where one.” Miguel added, catching a tangerine that Marco tossed him.

 

“How do you think I knew your great-great grandpa? We used to play together when we were young. I taught him everything he knows.”

 

“Uh huh.” Marco said with a roll of his eyes, but he smiled anyway, and tossed Hector the last tangerine. He wasn’t sure if skeletons needed to eat,but he’d seen other skeletons with food back at the bridge, and it seemed rude not to offer. Hector, for his part, seemed touched by the gesture, and as he peeled his tangerine his tone became a bit softer.

 

“Ok, maybe not  _ everything _ , Ernesto was always better at the showman part then I was. But we  _ did _ play together, grew up together actually.” 

 

“Wait, really?” Marco asked, trying to wrack his brain to see if he remembered reading about a Hector in any of the De la cruz biographies he and Miguel had smuggled home from the library. He couldn't think of anything, but then the man had been born over a century ago, and most of the information on his childhood  _ was  _ pretty vague.

 

“Yup. He was just a few years older than me. We were raised in the same orphanage, played in the plaza together, shared a house when we got older--well, a hovel really--but it was...fun…” Hector finished with a shrug, popping a tangerine slice into his mouth. The boys  watched with interest as it literally disappeared, before Miguel, munching on his own slice, asked another question. 

 

“So, if you grew up with De la Cruz,is it ever weird  for you that he got super-out-of-this-world, once in a lifetime famous, and nobody’s even heard of you?”

 

“Um--” Hector began, looking a little pressed for an answer,  but Miguel plowed on with all the tact of most twelve year old boys.

 

“Like, when you went to the theater and saw his movies, did you think--man, he’s got it all figured out, and here I am doing nothing with my life?”

 

“I never saw his movies.” Hector said quickly,  looking down at the guitar once more. “And considering the fact that I was dead when they came out, I wasn’t doing much with my life anyway.”

 

As Marco heard this last part, a thought stuck him, and he began doing some quick mental calculations. “Now, hold on a second. If you grew up with De la Cruz, and he was older than you, you’d have had to be born sometime after 1896. And the first De la Cruz movie came out in 1931, and you were already dead by then...just how old were you when you died?”

 

“...Twenty one.” Hector said after a moment, his voice low.

 

Marco’s mouth dropped open. “Twenty one?!” He gasped out, “I thought you were  _ old _ !”

 

Hector looked a little affronted at that, as if to say ‘Just how old do I look?’ but Marco went on talking.

 

“I mean, I guess you  _ are  _ old, technically. You must have died sometime in the 20s, but-- still! Twenty one?! That’s like--a college student! That’s not old! And from food poisoning? I didn’t even realize people could die from that!”

 

Marco realized that he was probably talking to much, but his head was still reeling from the realization of just how  _ young _ Hector had been when he died. Twenty one, that was just two years older than Abel, just a few years older than himself! The thought shook him deeply. It was one thing to hear about people dying young, but it was different when it was somebody that you  _ knew _ ...even if they were already dead when you knew them. And that Hector had  died from something so treatable...He’d had food poisoning himself, pretty bad too when him and Miguel had tried cooking by themselves for the first time and--

 

The sudden memory of a tiny Miguel moaning in a hospital bed as Marco lay in the one next to him, unable to do anything to help him, flashed across his mind, making him shudder.

 

“Wasn’t there anybody around to get you to a hospital?” He whispered, staring at Hector, thinking of him lying in a bed all alone, racked with pain.

 

“Well...actually--”

 

But whatever Hector was about to say was cut off by loud rumbling sound, from somewhere above the hanging tram car. 

 

“What was that, thunder?” Marco asked, looking up into the dark sky to check for lighting. He wasn’t to comfortable with the idea of being up in the air in a metal car if lighting was going to start striking.

 

“Can’t be, the sky’s completely clear.” Hector replied, looking around as well. “Maybe it was another trolley passing over head?”

 

“Uh guys..” Miguel said shakily, pointing out at the darkness. “I don’t think it’s a trolley.”

 

The other two looked at where Miguel was pointing, and their eyes nearly popped from their sockets, literally in Hector’s case. Because barreling towards them at high speed was a huge, glowing, multi-colored,  _ winged panther  _ \--who looked very very  _ angry _ .

 

“Oh no…” Hector gasped, “ _ Pepita _ .”

 

“Wait--who?”

 

“No time to explain!” Hector cried, fumbling rapidly with the door handle that led to the inside of the trolley. “We gotta get some cover! Come on stupid door--”

 

“MARCO! HECTOR!” 

 

Marco whirled around at the cry, and to his absolute horror saw the huge cat had grabbed Miguel by his hoodie and was trying to fly off with him! Luckily Miguel had managed to catch hold of one of the bars on the trolley, but his fingers were rapidly losing their grip as the beast pulled all the harder.

 

“MIGUEL!” Marco and Hector cried together, rushing to the boy and each catching hold of one of his legs as his fingers finally lost their hold. They tugged furiously against the pull of the giant alebrije, (Marco was pretty sure that's what it was, though he’d never imagined one this  _ big _ before), but Miguel was slowly and steady rising into the air, despite their efforts. 

 

“Don’t let go!” Miguel cried, fear blazing in his eyes and voice, tears threatening to spill over. All the while the alebrije raged and hissed above him, tugging on his hood furiously. Dante was running about the small space, barking wildly and almost knocking Marco over the the railing. 

 

“I won’t! I  _ won’t! _ Don’t worry I got you! I got you!” Marco cried desperately, but he could feel Miguel slipping through the grip of his gloves. The cat gave another wrench, and then another, Marco could feel one of his gloves slipping off as Miguel began sliding from his grip--

 

For a split second their eyes locked, Miguel’s wide with fear, Marco’s wide with helplessness--

 

And then Hector’s fist came barreling into the creature’s nose! 

 

The beast gave a howl of pain and rage, releasing its grip on Miguel, who came tumbling down into Hector and Marco’s arms.The sudden release sent Marco’s loose glove spiraling down into the city, and he caught a glimpse of his own  _ real _ skeleton hand clutching at a shaking Miguel before the alebrije was back, slamming itself into the car.

 

The tram rocked violently on its tether, throwing Marco, Miguel and Dante into  the railing--Hector was not so lucky, and the boys watched in horror as he began toppling over the side!

 

They managed to grab hold of his legs just before he dropped below the trolley, causing his skull to bang painfully against the bottom of the car several times before they could pull him back onto the platform.

 

“Are all Dia de los Muertos with you this exciting?” Marco gasped as soon as Hector was safe.

 

The skeleton returned the quip with a wry smile. “Heh, you think this is exciting chamaco? You should have seen the year I tried driving Cheech’s van through the gate at the bridge, now  _ that  _ was--”

 

Another violent rocking cut him off, and the group looked up in horror to see that the alebrije had landed on the roof of the car, and was snarling down on them, ready to pounce. The skeletons inside the tram were screaming in terror, looking out the windows trying to catch a glimpse of what was attacking them. Marco furiously tried the door handle again, but the occupants seemed to have guessed that whatever the trouble was, the freeloaders on the back were responsible, and kept it locked. They were trapped, with nowhere to go but down.

 

Marco, unable to keep his eyes off the advancing alebrije, pulled Miguel to him,and Miguel buried his face in Marco’s chest, shaking. Hector stood up from behind them and wrapped an arm around each boy, pulling them close. The alebrije growled once more, a rumble  that rattled their bones, and raised itself up to pounce. At the last second, Marco looked away, bracing himself against Hector, whose hand came up to shield the boy’s head as the beast sprung--

Only to be knocked aside as Dante launched himself, awkwardly but accurately, directly at the creatures muzzle, throwing it off balance and away from the huddled trio. For a moment the creature hung in the air, dazed and confused, before shaking its head, and lunging once more towards the tram--

 

Only to be cut off once more as the car barreled into a tunnel just the right size for a sky-tram, but far too small for a giant winded panther. The group heard the creature’s frustrated roar echoing after them as they speed through the tunnel and out into another, safer, part of the city.

 

Marco, Miguel, and Hector stayed huddled together for a moment longer, staring wide eyed back at where the alebrije had been, before Miguel finally gasped out, “What the heck was that?!”

 

“That...was Pepita...” Hector replied, slowly loosening his grip on the boys. “She’s an alebrije, except on crazy steroids and she does  _ not _ like me...In fact, that whole thing with her grabbing you was  pretty weird, because usually when we bump into each other she leaves anybody else around alone…”

 

He looked at Marco, questioningly. “You two ever run into her before?” he asked. 

 

Marco shook his head, and said with a weak grin, “Believe me, I’d remember running into a girl like that--I don’t think I could forget if I tried.”

 

“Well she was no match for Dante!” Miguel exclaimed with a laugh, rubbing the panting dog’s belly. “You were amazing boy!” 

 

“Yeah...yeah he did pretty good,” Marco admitted, amazed at hearing himself praise the xolo. Then he turned to Hector with a smile and added, “You were pretty amazing too, taking a shot at that thing like that--I was scared stiff.”

 

Hector seemed taken aback by the praise, but passed it off with a shrug and a smile of his own. 

 

“Hey, you two kept me from ending up as a pile of broken bones on the street, that was pretty good too, especially for a guy who was scared stiff.” He finished, giving Marco a friendly punch on the arm. Marco laughed and returned the gesture. 

 

“Hey careful,” Hector laughed back, “I break easy.” He turned to Miguel, who was still patting Dante. “You ok chamaco? You’re not scratched up or anything are you?”

 

“I’m good, thank to you guys.” Miguel said, flashing Hector and Marco a thumbs up. Just then, a blast of music trumpeted up from below them, and the tram started to descend. The group peered down into a brightly light square, where hundreds of excited skeletons milled about around a familiar looking statue.

 

“Welcome to the Plaza De la Cruz.” Hector said, motion down at the spectacle. He slipped the guitar off his shoulders and handed to Miguel, “Showtime chamacos. Let’s get going before all the slots are filled up.”

 

“And before the conductor comes back here to find out what all the trouble was about.” Marco added with a smirk.

 

“Ah, that’s my boy.” Hector grinned, reaching out to ruffle Marco’s hair. Marco waved him off, but grinned back, and the instant the tram touched the ground, they were off.

 

***

Back in another part of the city, an extremely angry Pepita circled the skies. Her mistress would not be happy. Not only had she not brought back the two cubs, but they were with the Unwanted One as well, the Unwanted One who had had the  _ audacity _ to strike her in the nose, keeping her from bringing the cubs back to her mistress! Who knew how long it would take of her to find them now? If only she had something to track them with--a sent caught Pepita’s nose, pulling her over to where a limp--something--dangled from a cable line below her. She came closer, sniffed at the thing, a dark glove with bone patterns stiched into it. Ah! The older cub! Now she had something to work with!

 

Carefully, Pepita griped the glove with her teeth, and then set off in the direction of her mistress. Once her mistress had the glove, she would get the rest of the pride, and then they would all go after the missing cubs, and bring them home at last. And maybe she could settle her score with the Unwanted One as well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The deleted scenes are a gift to us all.
> 
> Except for Ernesto's early mustache, that-that deserves to be forgotten (shudder)


	9. I Never Knew I Could Want Something So Much...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are! I had such a fun time writing this chapter! Hope you all enjoy, and thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews and kudos!

If Marco had thought that the Arts District had been full of music, it was nothing compared to the Plaza De la Cruz. The entire place seemed ready to explode from the mix of sounds, lights and colors. Every step the group took they seemed to bump into a new act getting ready to perform for the show. And the variety was astounding. There were heavy metal groups, accordion playing nuns, a kid with a giant iguana alebrije that he played like a xylophone, even a set of singing dogs...though not all of them were well received. In fact the crowd seemed pretty unimpressed with the acts that had gone on so far. Marco wasn’t sure if this made him feel better about their chances of winning, or more nervous.

 

Actually, the closer they got to the front of the line, the worse he felt. When he’d sung out loud before he’d been to mad to really think about what he was doing. Now, with all those people, and so much riding on them winning--well, he was starting to regret eating those tangerines.

 

“Ok, what are you gonna play?” Hector asked they found somewhere to sit behind the stage.

 

“Definitely  _ Remember Me _ .” Miguel replied, brimming with confidence. It was his favorite song, and the one that he had practiced the most. He was already starting to strum away when Hector’s hand came down on his, cutting Miguel off.

 

“No, not that one.”

 

“Oh come on, it’s his most popular song.” Miguel said with a huff. Hector responded with a grimace of disgust, and waved his hand out towards the other waiting contestants “It’s  _ too _ popular.”

 

As if on cue a chorus of different versions of Remember Me rang towards them, jarring together in a way that made each member of their little group wince.

 

“He’s got a point hermanito, we’ve gotta do something that makes us stand out--and not in the singing dog way.” Marco said, eyeing the still unenthusiastic crowd. 

 

“Hmm...How about Poco Loco?” Miguel said after a moment, looking between his brother and Hector.

 

“Epa! Now that’s a song!” Hector said with enthusiasm. Marco wished that he felt as confident. He’d sung Poco Loco before, but he’d never been able to get into it as much as Miguel did. Still, it wasn’t a bad choice, it was fun and catchy, and he’d probably do just fine...if he could just get his stomach to settle down. It didn’t help him much that right at that second a stagehand called out that the “De la Cruzitos” were on standby, followed by the crowd finally bursting into cheers as a group called Los Chachalacos took the stage.

 

They were good too. Really good. They’d be tough to beat, that was for sure, even for somebody who’d actually performed before...

 

Marco looked over at Miguel, who was watching the group on stage with wide, nervous looking eyes. Squaring his shoulders, Marco gave him a pat on the back and an encouraging smile. He might feel like throwing up himself, but it wouldn’t do Miguel’s nerves any good to realize that. He was the older brother, he had to keep it together for Miguel, no matter how nervous he felt about going out and singing a whole song out loud for  the first time in his life in front of the deadest looking crowd he’d ever seen… no pun intended of course.

 

But despite Marco’s best efforts to look calm, Hector was eyeing the two boys with cautious concern. “You two always this nervous before a performance?”

 

“I-I’m not nervous” Miguel said quickly, glancing up at a still stoic looking Marco, who quickly flashed him a grin that he knew looked pretty weak, and was kicking himself mentally for it.

“We’re fine.” Marco added quickly. But seeing that Hector still looked unconvinced, he softly muttered, “It’s just...we’ve-we’ve never performed before…”

 

“What?” Hector cried, looking back and forth at the two boys. “But back at the studio--you just jumped right into--”

 

“That was different!” Marco cut in, a bit of his panic leaking out. “I was angry--I-I wasn’t really thinking about it--this-this is so totally different!”

 

“There’s all those people--” Miguel added, looking out at the crowd with trepidation, his trembling fingers clenched tightly around the neck of the guitar.

 

“And they haven't liked any of the other acts until now--” Marco continued, pacing up and down, and running a hand nervously through his hair feeling like he wanted to start pulling it out, 

 

“They didn’t even like the giant iguana!” Miguel cried, waving his arms, his own panic coming out in full now that Marco’s had finally slipped.

 

“And...what if--what if they don’t like...us?” Marco finished softly, slumping onto a crate with his head in his hands, his teenage pride embarrassed beyond belief that he’d actually said that last part out loud. But the truth was that the thought of finally sharing something he was so passionate about, something he’d never been able to share before--and then have that rejected...Well, he’d already had to live through one disastrous reaction to his music, and he wasn’t sure he could take another one.

 

“...Ok. ok. Ok. ok.” Hector said after a moment, apparently doing some quick thinking. “You’re obviously not ready for this right now--but as your lives  _ literally _ depend on winning this,  _ I’ll _ go up there--”

 

“NO!” Both boys cried together, Miguel leaning away as Hector reached out to take the guitar and Marco standing bolt upright, a look of slightly crazed determination in his eyes.

Hector pulled back, surprised at the outburst. “Why not? I might not be De la Cruz but I think I can hold my own against--”

 

“It’s not that.” Marco said quickly, “It’s…it’s just if I-if  _ we _ can’t do just one song…”

 

“How can we call ourselves musicians?” Miguel finished, coming up to stand next to his brother, linking his arm through Marco’s; mirroring the gesture he’d made all those hours ago back in the courtyard of the Zapateria. “And... I don't just want to get De la Cruz's blessing. I need to prove   
that... that I'm worthy of it.”

 

Hector looked like he wanted to say something to that, but Marco cut him off, wanting to clarify his own reason for speaking up.

 

“And I don’t wanna do this just to get De la Cruz’s blessing…” Marco said, glancing at Miguel when the boy looked up at him in surprise. “I wanna do this to show that--that I’ve got what it takes.” He looked back down at Miguel, who was still looking concerned. Marco smiled, and wrapped his arm around the younger boy, pulling him close. “That  _ we’ve  _ got what it takes.”

 

There was a strange look on Hector face as he eyed the boys, standing there together, as if he was seeing someone else in their place. But a final blast of sound from the stage pulled his attention away; Los Chachalacos were finishing up. Marco felt his stomach tightening again.

 

“Ok, alright.” Hector said, turning back to the boys. “You wanna perform? Then you’ve got to perform! Loosen up! Shake off those nerves!” He demonstrated by shaking his whole form violently, motioning for Marco and Miguel to copy him. “Sáquenlo sáquenlo! Come on Marco the dog is shaking better than you are!” 

 

Marco rolled his eyes, but amped up his shaking. Miguel smirked at him, intensifying his own, and Marco copied him. Soon the brothers were caught up in a mini-contest until Hector reached out and grabbed them both by the shoulders, pulling them upright. 

 

“Alright enough, now give me your best gritos!”

 

The sounds that followed reminded Marco painfully of when his voice had first begun to crack. He was sure Hector’s confidence in them was dropping by the minute, and Dante was covering his ears. But before either he or Miguel could try again, the stage hand was calling them up. And just like that, all the muscles they’d just loosened seized back up again. 

 

Marco’s heart started to pound in his chest, and Miguel looked like he was trying to decide rather to bolt or not. But at that moment Hector came up, and gripped each boy by a shoulder so that they had to look him in the eye. 

 

“Alright chamacos, listen up, because  this is important. I know you’re nervous, but this secret will save you whether you’re nervous for your first performance or your hundredth. When you get up there, ignore all those strangers, don’t think about whether they’re going to like you or not,” Hector gave Marco’s shoulder a squeeze at that before going on, “Just do your best, and pretend that you’re only singing to someone that you love.”

 

The stagehand called for them again, and Hector loosened his grip, giving them both a push towards the stage. “You remember that, and you’ll be just fine...probably.”

 

“Probably?!”

 

But Hector only flashed them both a thumbs up and a smile that looked more like a grimace--and then they were on stage.

 

There was a long, horrible moment of silence as the brothers stood together on the stage, stiff with panic. The audience stared up at them, whispering as the moment dragged out. From somewhere in the back Marco heard someone yell to bring back the singing dogs.

 

He had to sing, he had to open his throat--but it was like the icy feeling from earlier had come back ten times worse. Marco wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore. Miguel stood next to him, staring out at the audience and looking too afraid to even tremble. Then suddenly the boy shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. Only this time, he was looking at Marco. And then he let out the loudest grito Marco had ever heard in his life--or at least it seemed that way after  the silence. But to his surprise, the crowd responded back enthusiastically. 

 

Miguel, smiled widely, began strumming the intro to the song, his eyes still locked with Marco’s.

_ Why is he looking at me?  _ Marco thought wildly as the intro came near and near to it’s close, to the moment he’d have to start singing. His eyes shot nervously away from Miguel’s over to where Hector stood by the side of the stage. The skeleton simply tapped at his skull, as if telling Marco to remember something. But, what was he supposed to remember? And why was Miguel still looking at--oh.  _ Oh _ .

 

The realization swept over him like a warm wave, melting away the ice around his throat. Miguel was singing to  _ him _ . Just him. Just like he’d done hundreds of times over the years, when it had just been the two of them alone in their attic. 

 

_ “Pretend that you’re only singing to someone that you love.” _

 

Well, he could do that. 

 

The last cord of the intro died away, and with wide smiles on both of their faces, the brothers burst into the song, together.

 

“ _ What color is the sky? Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor! You tell me that it’s red, Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor! Where should I put my shoes? Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor! You say put them on your head! Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!” _

 

As their confidence grew, so did the energy of the song, and the energy of the audience followed, clapping along to the beat. A thrill went up Marco’s spine as he heard the rhythm, the reaction that he and Miguel were creating. What had he had to be nervous about? This was easy, this was exhilarating! As they began the next verse, Marco shot a wide grin at Miguel, who grinned back. This was it, the moment they’d always dreamed of, they were actually, truly performing! They continued the song, trading off the verses, their voices rising with the intensity of the music, joining back together at the end of chorus.

 

“ _ You make me un poco loco _ !”

 

“ _ Un Poqui-ti-ti-to Loco _ !” 

 

“ _ The way you keep me guessing _ \--”

 

“ _ I’m nodding and I’m yes-ing _ \--” 

 

“ _ I’ll count it as a blessing, that I’m only un poco loco! _ ” 

 

Suddenly, Marco was jostled from behind, and he turned to see a very chagrined looking Hector, who was desperately trying to shake Dante’s grip on his trouser leg. But by now he was fully on the stage and in the view of the audience. A brief second of panic flashed across the skeleton’s face, before he began furiously soft shoeing along to the rhythm, motioning for Marco and Miguel to start moving as well. 

 

Marco had never danced before, it wasn't exactly an encouraged pastime back home, but he was surprised how quickly both he and Miguel seemed to be able to take it up. It wasn’t a proper dance, they were just sort of bouncing around the stage, sliding between each other and Hector. But the pure enjoyment of moving to the music, of performing with his brother, and with a friend--Marco never wanted to forget how this felt. Never.

 

“Not so bad for a dead guy!” Miguel teased as Hector danced behind him.

 

“Not so bad yourselves, gorditos!” Hector grinned back, before joining into the song.

 

“ _ The loco that you make me is just un poco crazy-- _ ”

 

“ _ The sense that you’re not making-- _ ” Marco continued, grinning as Miguel added:

 

“ _ The liberties you’re taking-- _ ”

 

“ _ Leaves my cabeza shaking! _ ” They sang together, a three part harmony, as their dancing twined them back together, Hector and Marco lifting Miguel up into the air.

 

“ _ You are just un Poco Loco! _ ”

 

The audience erupted into a storm of cheers! It was  the loudest applause that they’d given all night. Their little group stood together for a moment, stunned by the reaction, then Hector quickly shooed the boys forward to take their bows.

 

“You did good chicos! I’m proud of you!” He called over the noise of the crowd, clapping them both on the back. Together the trio waved and bowed to the crowd, which had begun chanting along with it’s applause: 

 

“Otra! Otra! Otra!”

 

“They want another song!” Hector said, his grin widening. “I think we might actually win this thing! You got any ideas?”

 

Marco looked around at the scene before him. The cheering crowd, the dazzling setlights, the spotlight shining down on the group like a full moon--  _ the moon _ .

 

There was a strange sort of twist in Marco’s stomach as the thought bloomed inside him…a conflict he didn’t entirely understand. Sure, he’d never sung his song--his mother’s song-- for anybody but Miguel before, and it had always been special because of that...But it was by far the song he was best at, better even then  _ A Feeling so Close _ . And they’d need the best to be able to win, to be able to get into De la Cruz’s tower--

 

Out of nowhere, the memory of the ringing bell that he’d heard back in the mausoleum came into Marco’s mind, sending a chill down his spine. What was wrong with him? He’d just proven that he had what it took to perform in front of an audience, so he knew he wasn’t feeling stagefright again.. So why  _ did _ he feel so weird about singing his song to all these people? 

 

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the memory of that strange sound, and the sense of foreboding that had come with it. He  didn’t have time for this. The audience was still cheering, still calling for another song...

 

“Yeah,” He said softly, looking out over the crowd, “ Yeah I got one…”

 

He pulled Miguel towards him, and softly whispered his instructions. Miguel looked surprised for a moment, then slowly nodded. He quickly began adjusting the guitar frets, and pulled up a stool that was on the side of the stage so that he could sit behind one of the microphones, as Marco took the other one in hand. Hector, seeming to realize that the boys had their own plan, stepped back to the side of the stage to sit with Dante, that odd look back on his face. And then slowly, almost hesitantly, Miguel began playing. 

 

The stage crew, hearing the subdued tempo of this new song, dimmed the lights to match the mood, until only a single spotlight was left, shining on Marco.

 

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, to think only of the words, and to push that strange, unsettling feeling deep, deep down. Then--he sang:

 

“ _ Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera; dile que no vivo de tanto padecer, dile que a mi lado debiera volver…” _

 

A hush fell over the crowd as Marco’s voice swept over them, carrying them along with the sounds, the sensations that he conjured up. Getting lost in the smooth flow of his words, so different than the jumpy vibrancy of the previous song.

 

“ _ Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera; dile que me muero, _

_ que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón… _ ”

 

Marco  felt a difference in his voice as he sang. There was an intensity rising up in him that he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t like when he’d been angry singing at Gustavo,  it wasn’t like when he’d been excited singing along with Miguel and Hector, it wasn’t like all of the hundreds of times he’d sung in secret, letting himself be carried away by the music. No, this-this was a different feeling all together. He didn’t feel anxious, or excited. He felt…

 

“  _ Ay lunita redondita, que la espuma de tu luz bañen mis noches !” _

 

He felt…

 

_ “ Ay lunita redondita, dile que me has visto tú llorar de amor  _ !”

 

Powerful. 

 

Like he could go anywhere, do anything. Whatever he wanted.  And nobody, not his parents, not his abuela, not his tatarabuela,  _ nobody  _ could ever make him stop.

 

“ _ Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera; dile que me muero, que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón. _ ”

 

All these people, all these wide eyed and wonderstruck people where looking at  _ him _ , listening to  _ him _ .  _ He’d  _ made them feel like this,  _ he’d  _ made this happen.  _ His _ voice, that he’d had to keep silent.  _ His _ talent, that he’d had to hide for so long. Well no more. From now on, he was going to do whatever it took to feel this way all the time. The moment he got back to the Land of the Living, he was catching the first bus out of Santa Cecilia and never looking back. He’d head to Morelia, he’d get himself into that music festival, he’d--

 

He’d been singing too fast, trying to pump up the tempo, the drive. He’d thrown Miguel off.

 

The mistake was minor, he doubted anybody else had even heard it before Miguel managed to cover it up. But Marco had heard, and the sound of Miguel’s fingers slipping on the strings, fumbling through an arrangement he’d written himself-- written for  _ Marco _ \-- because he’d been trying to keep up with the changes Marco was trying to make out of nowhere...

 

Well, that sound seemed to echo in his ears as loud as any ringing bell…

 

As smoothly as he could, with hundreds of eyes stilling watching him--watching  _ them _ , Marco pulled himself back, back to the natural tempo of the song. But that hollow feeling that he’d pushed down had begun creeping back up again...

 

“ _ Dile que se apiade de mi corazón, dile que se apiade de mi corazón... _ ”

 

The applause that erupted from the crowd was deafening, drowning out even the congratulations of the blue haired Emcee as she pressed a golden slip of paper into Marco’s hand. The sound could probably have been heard all the way over at the rehearsal hall. 

 

But Marco didn’t hear any of it. All of his attention was on the small boy sitting on a stool on the side of the stage, clutching at a guitar.

 

As quickly as he could, Marco thanked the Emcee and ducked out of the spotlight, coming over to crouch by Miguel’s side. 

 

“I-I’m sorry I messed up that note--” Miguel began, looking ashamed, as though he’d nearly wrecked the whole performance with his hardly noticeable slip. “I-I just wasn’t expecting you to start going faster and--”

 

“No. No,  _ I’m _ sorry.” Marco said quickly, taking hold of Miguel’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have started to show off--I--I shouldn’t have even--”

 

But just then, Miguel’s eyes widened, and he pointed over Marco’s shoulder towards something in the crowd. Marco turned--and felt his heart fall into the hollow pit in his stomach. Making their way through the crowd were the  _ dead Riveras _ .

 

Marco didn’t see Mama Imelda with them, but oddly didn't make him feel any better. It was like being in the woods, knowing there was a dangerous animal lurking nearby, but being unable to see it. At any rate, if the rest of the little family group was here then Mama Imelda couldn’t be far away.

 

“Time to head out hermanito.” Marco said, tucking the ticket into his coat, next to Hector’s photo. 

 

Miguel gulped and nodded. As quickly as they could, the boys ducked behind the stage, and began weaving their way between the debris. Marco didn’t think the family had seen them properly, the lights had still been dimmed. They could still get away, if they just--

 

A headlong collision with Hector derailed Marco’s train of thought, along with his legs.

 

“Hey! What’s going on?” Hector said, helping the boy back onto his feet.

 

“We gotta get out of here!” Miguel gasped out, trying to push back a suddenly very excited Dante.

 

“What? Why?”

 

Marco’s mind whirled rapidly, trying to think of what he could say. But the Emcee’s voice cut through the night, answering the question for him.

 

“Damas y caballeros, I have an emergency announcement. Please be on the lookout for two living boys, answering to the names  of Marco and Miguel. Earlier tonight they ran away from their family. They just want to send them back to the Land of the Living. If anyone has information, please contact the authorities.”

 

The silence that fell between the boys and Hector was as deafening as the earlier applause had been. And the hollow feeling in Marco’s stomach when he saw the look on Hector’s face was ten times worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the funniest chapters for me to write, along with being the most difficult. I wanted Marco to have his own moment to shine, but couldn't quite figure out where to put it, there were a couple of places I thought of but none of them seemed right, the I remembered the skeleton crowd asking for another song, and it all just clicked!


	10. Mi Familia...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there's some violence in this chapter. Nothing graphic or anything like that, but just thought I should give a warning.

“Wait, wait, wait! You said de la Cruz was your  _ only _ family. The  _ only _ person who could send you home.”

 

This was all too familiar to Marco. The anger in Hector’s face, the hurt in his voice at discovering the deception--it was all too much like his argument with Papa. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he even could say anything.

 

“We-we do have other family--” Miguel began, but Hector cut him of with an angry wave of his hand. 

 

“You could have taken my photo back this whole time?!”

 

“They hate music!” Marco said quickly, finding his voice at last, desperate to explain, to defuse the situation. “We need a musician's blessing, or else we’d never be--” 

 

But once more Hector cut him off, looking at Marco in that way that made him think he was seeing someone else in his place. “You  _ lied _ to me!”

 

“Oh come on!” Marco cried, his own temper rising now. “ _ You _ didn’t even believe us at first! It’s not our fault if you decided to let yourself fall for it! And besides  _ you’re _ one to talk, you’ve been lying to people left and right all night!”

 

“Look at me!” Hector hissed, gesturing to his tattered clothes and yellowing bones. “I'm being  _ forgotten _ . I don't even know if I'm gonna last the night!”

 

That statement made Marco pause, remembering Chicharron, remembering his own worries about his mother. But then Hector went on, that same look in his eyes, stronger then Marco had ever seen it before, and said:

 

“I'm not gonna miss my  _ one _ chance to cross that bridge and get home because  _ you _ want to live out some  _ stupid musical fantasy! _ ”

 

And whatever sympathy Marco had felt dried up instantly. He’d been wrong. He’d been so wrong. Hector wasn’t any different then any other adult he’d known. They said that they cared, that they’d support you, believe in you. But disappoint them, deviate from the narrative they’d built up for you, and how quickly those sentiments were revealed for what they where. Nothing. And Marco had had enough.    
  


“I’m taking you to your family.” Hector continued, reaching out and grabbing Miguel’s arm to pull him back towards the stage.

 

“Let go of me!”  Miguel cried, hurt and anger and a little bit of fear mixing together in his voice and eyes.

 

“You'll thank me later--” Hector began, only to be cut off as Marco’s fist barreled into his side. The skeleton gasped and clutched at his ribs, dropping to his knees, releasing his hold on Miguel who quickly scrambled to Marco’s side, his eyes wide.

 

“Don’t you  _ touch _ him.” Marco hissed, standing in front of the gasping skeleton with his fists clenched, his entire body shaking; though if it was from anger at Hector for grabbing at Miguel, or shock at what he’d just done, he didn’t know. Marco had never struck  _ anyone _ before. He’d thought about it sure, especially when Leon was on his case. But he’d always held himself back.

 

“A real man is strong enough  _ not  _ to use his fists.” Papa had told him once, something that had always stuck with him whenever he’d been tempted to lash out. He’d been proud of himself for it, proud that he’d made Papa proud...and now…

 

Well, now he had one more way in which he’d disappointed his parents.

 

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that now. The dead Riveras where getting closer, as was the sunrise. Sparing a last glance at the still kneeling, gasping Hector, Marco took Miguel’s hand in his, and ran.

***

The brothers ran blindly through the streets, ducking and dodging skeletons and barreling through whatever obstacles barred their way, keeping their eyes fixed on the shining white tower in the distance.

 

And all the while, Dante was doing his best to block their path.

 

“No, Dante! Stop it! Let go!” Miguel cried as Dante took hold of his sleeve, pulling at it roughly as Miguel tried his best to pull back. “Dante, stop! Stop it! Leave me alone!”

 

“Get out of here you stupid dog!” Marco cried, gripping his brother by the waist and hoisting him away from Dante, who cowered back as the much larger boy came towards him. “You're not a spirit guide, you’re a pest! Now get out of here!” 

 

The dog released his hold on Miguel, causing the sleeve of his jacket to slip off, revealing his living arm. To Marco’s horror he heard several gasps from the crowd around them, quickly followed by loud cries about “ _ Those living boys _ !”

 

“Come on!” Marco cried, taking Miguel’s hand once more. Together they slide down a pipe toward a lower street level, away from the crowd, leaving Dante far behind them. Ahead of them, De la Cruz’s tower gleamed like a beacon. 

 

“We’re almost there Miguel! Come on, we--”

 

A thunderous roar stopped Marco’s words as quickly as the huge creature that dropped in front of him stopped him in his tracks. It was the giant alebrije, Pepita! And riding atop her like an ancient queen of myth and legend was an absolutely  _ furious _ Mama Imelda.

 

“This nonsense ends  _ now _ boys! I am giving you my blessing and you are going home!”

‘We don’t want your blessing!” Miguel declared boldly, while his grip on Marco’s hand tightened. Together the boys raced into a narrow alley on their side, far to narrow for the likes of Pepita to follow them. Mama Imelda was undeterred however, and quickly slide from the animal to follow them on foot. Despite the intensity of their situation, Marco found himself impressed with how quickly she managed to move while wearing heels. But the boys managed to keep a head of her, right until they ran up against a large iron gate.

 

“Squeeze through!” Marco panted, looking back towards the darkness of the tunnel, Mama Imelda’s cries and footsteps growing louder and closer by the second. 

 

“But, what about you?” Miguel began as he stepped through the bars that where far to small for Marco to fit through.

 

“I’ll be right behind you hermanito, just go!” Marco cried insistently, giving Miguel a push so that he could fit through with guitar on his back. Miguel hesitated on his way up the steps, turning back to make sure Marco was able to climb over. Marco had just placed his hand on the rail to pull himself up--when a triumphant looking Mama Imelda rounded the corner, her outstretched hand holding a marigold petal.

 

“Enough! What is the matter with you ninos?! I’m trying to save your lives--”

 

“You’re ruining our lives!” Miguel cried from behind the bars. 

 

“What?” Mama Imelda sputtered, stopping her advance and looking genuinely surprised at the outburst. 

 

“Music's the  _ only _ thing that makes us happy. And you- you wanna take that away!” Miguel continued, his voice wavering slightly. The light of the candles in the sconces illuminated the tears that where welling up in his eyes “...You'll never understand... _ nobody _ understands! The only person who’s  _ ever _ understood is--”

 

“Miguel,  _ go _ .” Marco said steadily, stepping down from the gate and facing Mama Imelda. Miguel still hesitated, looking down at Marco with concern. Marco gave him a small smile and repeated. “I’ll be right behind you.  _ Go _ .”

 

Miguel hesitated a moment longer, then gave a quick, sharp nod, and disappeared up the stairs. Marco watched until he was out of sight, then turned his gaze back to Mama Imelda. She stood stock still in front of him, and the look on her face was angrier then Marco had ever seen her. 

 

“ _ You _ . You did this.”  She hissed. 

 

Once, as in, before this night, that look would have been enough to make Marco cower. But he’d been through too much, seen too much, done to much. He found that instead of fear, or even anger, he felt only a coldness when looking at the woman in front of him. The reason for the music ban, the reason that he’d had to hid for so long, the reason he was a disappointment to his family. 

 

“Did  _ what _ exactly?” Marco asked sarcastically, leaning against the gate behind him with perfect nonchalance, making sure that his every word, his every move showed just how much he didn’t care what she thought. 

 

“Helped my brother pursue his dreams? Helped him to not feel so alone when nobody else understood him? Helped him escape the clutches of a bunch of music hating  _ fanatics _ ? If that’s what you mean by what I  _ did… _ then I guess I’m guilty as charged.”

 

“You _ disrespectful _ \--” Mama Imelda began, but Marco cut her off. 

 

“But, really, if you mean driving Miguel to run away from you and everybody else in this stifling family--well honestly, you did that  _ yourself _ .”

 

“ _ What did you say _ ?” Imelda hissed, coming forward so that she could glare up into Marco’s eyes. Marco glared right back.

 

“You heard me. Everything has to be  _ Mama Imelda _ ’s way, all the time. Imelda’s rules, Imelda’s traditions,  Imelda’s lifestyle. Anyone who breaks with that is instantly a disappointment! Well I hate to break it to you but you are  _ not _ perfect!”  

 

With each word, Macro took a step forward, forcing Imelda to back away from him, her eyes growing wide with each step, each word. 

 

“Your stupid, stubborn rule has made our family the  _ laughing stock  _ of Santa Cecilia! Do you know how  _ hard _ it is for any of us to make friends? To even have a  _ semblance _ of a normal existence? It’s  _ Mexico _ ! There’s music everywhere! And people happen to like it!  _ I  _ happened to like!  _ Miguel _ happens to like it! And it’s been tearing us both apart having to keep that a secret! Do you know what it feels like to have to choose between doing  _ what _ you love and the  _ people _ that you love?” 

 

Marco’s voice was sharper now, fire was spreading through the earlier coolness. He continued his advance, and Mama Imelda continued to back away, speechless.

 

“Nobody should have to make that choice! Family should  _ support  _ you, they should at least not make you feel like a  _ criminal  _ if they disagree with them!”

 

“Don’t talk to  _ me _ about supporting family!” Mama Imelda cried. She stopped her retreat in mid step, and instantly began pushing Marco back as he’d done to her. “Or about how “hard” your life had been! You all have had an  _ incredibly  _ easy life compared to what  _ my _ child had to go through! And you’ve had it because of  _ me!  _ I was the one who had to do all the supporting when that--that  _ musico _ up and left to ‘ _ pursue his dreams _ ’! Where was he when  _ I _ needed support?!”

 

“Well if you were like _ this _ when you were  _ alive _ it’s no wonder that he le -”

 

_ SMACK! _

 

Marco staggered back, falling against the gate, clutching at his cheek. Imelda towered over him, shaking, her raised hand still clutching the petal, now crumpled and bent. Marco’s fallen mask lay between them. It had blocked some of the blow, but not much.

 

“...I should have known you’d turn out like this...like _ him _ …” Imelda gasped out finally. Her voice was strange, as if she were speaking more to herself then to Marco. “Obsessed with this  _ dream, _ and pulling Miguel along with you. From the moment I heard what Luisa said, I should have known…”

 

The odd mention of Mama distracted Marco from the stinging pain, and he looked up at Imelda, who was staring at him in the same way Hector had, as if he was someone else.

 

“Wh--what do you mean…?” He murmured, still shell-shocked from the blow.  

 

“It was the first Dia de Muertos after you were adopted…” Imelda said, her voice still strangely flat, emotionless. “I-I heard Luisa talking to one of her cousins who was visiting that year...they asked about you, about how you were adapting to the rule about music...Lusia said you’d had trouble at the start, that you’d been a little showman at first, always singing, always playing at making music. She’d laughed...and said that she wasn’t surprised...since that woman...your birth-mother...your birth-mother had told her she was descended from--” And she spat out the name-- “From the great _Ernesto De la Cruz_.”

 

Marco felt the world freeze around him, even his heart seemed to have stopped beating for a second, before it began thumping wildly in his chest.

 

“W-what?” He whispered, so quietly that he wasn’t even sure if Imelda had heard him. But she went on anyway. 

 

“I don’t think Luisa really believed her. I didn’t either...until you started to get older...started looking more and more like him...and then I started to wonder, until I didn’t need to wonder anymore. It was clear as day that it was true. That that man, that--” 

 

Here, Imelda did not say  _ musico _ , but a word Marco was sure tatarabuelas shouldn’t say.

 

“--Had gotten some poor stupid girl in the family way and then  _ dropped  _ her on the wayside on his road to  _ stardom _ , and that the same sort of thing had kept happening until finally coming to  _ you _ . But I thought that the family would  be able to help you overcome all that. I thought that you  _ had. _ But then you show up here with Miguel after trying to take that guitar--run away from your family--put on that _ display _ at that talent show--”

 

“You saw that?” Marco asked, dazed, getting to his feet at last, his mind still whirling uncontrollable with what he was being told.

 

“I caught the end of it.” Imelda said, icily. “I saw you strutting around that stage, crooning to the crowd while the spotlight followed you around. Just as much of a show off as  _ he _ always was.” She snorted in disgust at the memory. “You even  _ sounded _ like him near the end.”

 

Marco slumped against gate. Ernesto De la Cruz was his great-great grandfather. Not by adoption, but by  _ blood. _ He really  _ was _ a De la Cruz. Maybe not on the right side of the bed--which he had to admit wasn’t exactly a great thing to realize about his idol--but still!  _ That  _ was where it came from, his talent, his passion for music, his voice itself--from Ernesto De la Cruz, the greatest musician of all time! Wait until he told-- _ Miguel _ . 

 

Miguel. He had to get back to Miguel, he had to get them both to De la Cruz--his great-great grandfather-- _ their _ great-great grandfather--from different bloodlines, but still  _ theirs together _ \--before--

 

“But none of that matters.” Imelda continued, “I’m sending you home  _ right now _ , and Miguel’s going home the  _ instant  _ that I find him. And  _ neither _ of you are going to get dragged down this road any further!”

 

She reached out towards him, the petal held aloft. Marco was backed against the gate, trapped between it and a rapidly speaking Imelda. His heart was pounding in his chest, beating a horrible rhythm to her words, the petal glowing brighter the closer it came. In three seconds it would all be over, he’d be trapped forever--unless--unless--

 

“Marco, I give you my blessing to go home, make shoes like a good Rivera, and  _ never  _ have  _ anything _ to do with this music nonsense  _ again _ !”

 

“No.”

 

The glowing petal touched Marco chest as he spoke--and promptly crumpled into ash.

 

Imelda starred in utter disbelief as the charred remnants floated out of her fingers and out into the darkness. “Wh-what…How?”

 

“I’m not a good Rivera.” Marco said smoothly, bending to pick up his fallen mask and placing it back on his face,  his voice utterly void of emotion. “I’m not a Rivera at all.”

 

And with that declaration, he hoisted himself up and over the gate, speeding up the stairs to find Miguel.

 

Leaving a stunned and speechless Imelda alone in the darkening tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the absolute hardest chapter to write so far. I'm the sort of person who really tries to get into the characters head, and writing this was surprisingly emotionally taxing. Imelda was the hardest to write, and I hope that I've still managed to keep her in character while stretching her to her emotional limit. She's had a bad night.
> 
> Once again, thank you for all the kudos and reviews, please leave a review below if you're enjoying the story!


	11. To Be Here With You Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! Thanks for all the wonderful comments on the last chapter! They made my week! There's nothing that warms my writer's heart more then making people squee with glee or squeal with terror :) Please feel free to leave some more for this one if you like it!

Marco made it to the base of De la Cruz’s tower just in time to see Miguel being tossed out of the line by a very capable looking bouncer. The younger boy when sprawling out into the street, the guitar landing beside him with an unhappy twang. 

 

“Hey!” Marco cried, rushing to help him up. “ You ok? What happened?”

 

“I’m fine.” Miguel muttered, brushing himself off as Marco helped him to his feet. “I tried telling that dumb guard that I was one of the contest winners, but I didn’t have the ticket to show him.”

 

Marco grimaced as he realized his mistake. He should have handed Miguel the ticket before sending him off. “Sorry...wait he threw you out just for that?”

 

“Well...then I _ tried _ to tell him that it was ok, since I was De la Cruz’s great-great grandson.” Miguel said, grabbing the guitar and striking his “De la Cruz” pose. 

 

Marco bit back a snort. “Wow, I can’t imagine why that didn’t work.” He said dryly. “Well come on, let's go give that security guard the surprise of his afterlife.”

 

The guard certainly was surprised to see the two boys making their way back through the line, surprised and much annoyed. But the annoyance quickly turned to stammered apologizes once Marco whipped the golden ticket out of his coat pocket and waved it confidently in the skeleton’s face,  _ louding _ questioning him on if he treated all of De la Cruz’s guests this poorly, and just what he meant by manhandling  a _ child _ like that, while Miguel stood close to Marco’s side, smirking all the while.

 

It was a very sulky, shame faced skeleton indeed who let them into the golden funicular. The instant the doors closed the boys burst out laughing, stumbling into an empty compartment once the rest of the riders started staring at them.

 

“That was awesome!” Miguel giggled, collapsing onto one of the seats. “I think you gave him a heart attack...well, if he could have one anyway.”

 

“All in a night's work hermanito.”  Marco smirked, slumping down next to his brother and throwing an arm around him while throwing his feet up on the seat. “I still can’t believe you tried to get in just on your “De la Cruz” charm.”

 

“Ah, it would have worked if  _ you’d  _ done it.” Miguel said, rolling his eyes, but still smiling. 

 

“Heh...maybe it would…” Marco murmured, looking out the window as the funicular rose higher and higher. And the higher they rose, the higher Marco’s spirits felt. They were almost there. Almost to De la Cruz... _ their _ great-great grandfather. Marco turned his gaze back to Miguel, a wide, almost giddy smile breaking over his face. 

 

“Oh hermanito, have I got something to tell  _ you _ .”

 

***

By the time the funicular doors opened to let them out onto the top floor of the tower, Miguel’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and he was grinning ear to ear. Marco hadn’t told him  _ everything  _ about his...  _ conversation  _ with Mama Imelda of course, he’d glazed over the intensity of it, and left out the part where he’d been slapped--luckily his mask covered whatever redness was still there--he  _ definitely  _ didn’t repeat what Mama Imelda had called De la Cruz--but he got the point  he wanted to across.

 

“So see, we are sort of brothers after all!” He finished as they got out, staring in awe at the spectacle of a party that was going on around them. Everywhere he looked famous skeletons mingled with fantastic alebrijes in a kaleidoscope of sound and color. 

 

“We’re  _ already _ brothers  _ genio _ . “ Miguel said with a laugh, as they strode through the carnival like atmosphere that pervaded the rooftop garden. 

 

“You know what I mean.” Marco said, rolling his eyes and pulling his brother into a side hug. “Anyway, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk you about all night. I think that once we get our blessing from De la Cruz, we should--”

 

But just then, a skeleton to the left of them pointed up to the stairs leading into the mansion proper and cried “Look, there’s Ernesto!” 

 

The boys heads shot up, just catching a glimpse of a figure clad in white and adorned with a huge sombrero heading into the mansion, waving to the party goers as he passed.

 

“De la Cruz!”  Miguel gasped, breaking from Marco’s side only to grab his wrist and start rushing up the stairs after him, Marco stumbling behind.

 

“Woah! Miguel wait! What’s the rush?!”

 

“We gotta get to him!” Miguel said, rushing onwards into the party, elbowing past skeletons and throwing excuses back as they ran. 

 

“Well yeah, but we’re gonna  _ play _ for him remember? We  _ won _ the contest.” Marco exclaimed as they entered a huge, crowded hall, where dozens of screens where playing clips from De la Cruz’s movies.

 

Miguel stopped his tracks, causing Marco to almost bump into him. “Oh...oh yeah.” he said, sheepishly. rubbing at his arm. “I forgot...So, when do we play for him?”

 

Marco started to reply, then stopped, realizing that he didn’t have a clue. “Uh, maybe it says on the ticket.” He muttered, pulling it out of his pocket. His fingers brushed something else as he did so, and he realized with a start that he still had Hector’s photo as well. The thought gave him a moments pause...Hector had said that he needed that photo to get across the bridge…But then the skeleton had said a lot of things, and who knew which were true and which weren't.  Besides, they’d managed to make it to De la Cruz anyway, and they’d be meeting him right at--

 

“ _ Ostras _ ! We don’t perform until the party ends to go to his Sunrise Spectacular?!” Marco gasped, staring at the words on the back of the ticket. “No. no. no. that’s way too long. We’ve gotta think of a plan!” 

 

He looked around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of De la Cruz, who’d disappeared once again into crowd. He had to think of something, some way to get them introduced to De la Cruz sooner. Assuming they could even get to him. But it was hard to think of anything with all those movie clips playing, not to mention the overpowering music that the DJ was mixing. Marco hated to admit it, but this was one moment in which he would have liked to have some peace and quiet so that he could think. Miguel however seemed entranced by the screens, his head switching back and forth from one to another, taking in each scene with rapt attention. The lines of dialogue thundered through Marco’s thoughts, keeping them from forming properly.

 

“Maybe we--no that’s not gonna work-”

 

_ “But what can we do? It is hopeless…”   _

 

“Marco.” 

 

“Oh! What if we--”

 

_ “You must have faith, sister.” _

 

“Marco.”

 

“But if we did that we might--”

 

_ “Oh but Padre, he will never listen!” _

 

“No no, that wouldn’t work. We’d need--”

 

_ “He will listen... to  _ **_music_ ** _!” _

 

“ **_Marco_ ** _! _ ” 

 

“What?”  Marco cried in exasperation, turning his attention to Miguel. His brother just stood there, the guitar in his hands and a big grin on his face. 

 

“I  _ think  _ I have a plan.”

 

***

 

A very nervous Marco stood beside an excited Miguel on the  top of the grand staircase, looking out over the sea of skeletons, his heart rapidly sinking into his stomach. 

 

“I have some issues with this plan.” He hissed. But Miguel, once again, paid no heed to his brother’s doubts, and just grinned at him--before letting out a grito that cut through the sounds of the party like a wolf howling into the night. 

 

Instantly, or at least it seemed that way to Marco, every head turned towards them, even the DJ turned down the music, waiting to see what those two kids up on the landing where up to. Miguel took a deep breath, nodded at Marco, who gulped and nodded back, and then began playing.

 

“ _ Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches. Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoras y señores. _ ” 

 

As they moved down the staircase together, Marco quickly picked up the next line, trying not to look any of the skeletons surrounding him in the eye, keeping his sights trained on the last place that he’d seen De la Cruz. 

 

“ _ To be here with you tonight brings me joy! Que alegria! For this music is my language and the world is mi familia! _ ” 

 

They strode through the crowd, getting closer and closer to the man himself, singing together as they went, their voices growing in volume and confidence the closer that they came. Marco could actually see the back of De la Cruz now. 

 

“ _ For this music is my language and the world is mi familia! For this music is my language and the world is mi familia! _ ”  

 

De la Cruz turned towards them, and Marco felt his heart soar, they were so close...

 

“ _ For this music is my lang-- _ ”

 

The harmony of their joined voices was sharply cut off as Miguel dropped from Marco’s side, plunging over the edge of the pool that neither of them  in their excitement had noticed. Marco’s heart leapt into his throat. But before he could even move,or even cry out-- Ernesto De la Cruz himself dove into the water and reappeared with Miguel in his arms, lifting him back onto the side of the pool. 

Marco instantly dropped down next to his coughing brother, patting him frantically on the back as the crowd moved back to give them some room. 

 

“Miguel! Are you ok?” Marco gasped, at the same time De la Cruz asked “ Are you all right nino?”

 

Miguel gave another cough, before looking up at De la Cruz, his face paint running down in streams across his face. The skeletons all around them gasped, realizing that the boy was still alive. Marco winced. Well, it wasn’t like they really needed their disguises anymore anyway. Slowly, he pulled his own mask off, and braced himself for the cries of alarm, but De la Cruz, though his eyes were wide, looked more intrigued then shocked. 

 

“It’s you--you are those boys. The ones who came from the Land of the Living!”

 

“You--you know us?” Miguel coughed, leaning into Marco, who wrapped an arm around him, both still a little unsure of the situation. 

 

“You’re all anyone has been talking about!” De la Cruz said with a laugh, before becoming a bit more serious, and asking, “Why have you come here?”

 

The boys looked at each other for a moment, before Marco gave a nod, and Miguel turned back to De la Cruz and said, softly, “I’m Miguel, and this Marco and...and we’re your great-great grandsons…”

 

Another wave of gasps passed through the crowd. De la Cruz’s eyes went wide. “I...have great-great sons?” He asked in amazement. 

 

Marco realized with jolt that perhaps telling a man that you were his legitimate _ and _ illegitimate great-great grandsons in front of all of his guest was not entirely polite. Even if the nature of the relation hadn’t been exactly mentioned, the fact that De la Cruz was surprised at the announcement, along with the fact that he was--had been--a confirmed bachelor in life would probably make people think along those lines anyway. Marco quickly tried to change the subject and said: 

 

“You see we-we need your blessing to get back ho--back to the Land of the Living. So we can be musicians--like you!”

 

_ Yes, throw in some flattery _ . He thought desperately.  _ Defuse the tension _ .

 

“The rest of our family, they wouldn't listen.” Miguel added on, looking both hopeful and worried as De la Cruz continued to stare at them “But we... we hoped you would?” 

 

There was a moment of heavy silence. And then De la Cruz smiled at them, and said, “My boys, with talent like yours, how could I  _ not _ listen?”

 

A warm wave of relief and something rather like elation swept over Marco, pulling him to his feet, bringing Miguel up with him, a wide smile breaking across his face. Miguel, who looked just as relieved and joyful as Marco felt, flung his arms around De la Cruz, who quickly swept the boy up and onto his shoulders, before pulling Marco to his side, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and lifting the other to proudly declare:  “I have great-great grandsons!” 

 

As the crowd around them cheered, the warm feeling in Marco’s chest grew. They’d made it. They’d made it to De la Cruz. He’d believe them, he’d  _ accepted  _ them. He was going to give them his blessing, a  _ musician’s  _ blessing. For the first time that night, something was finally going right.

 

***

Far below the party, at the base of the tower, a still rather sore skeleton in drag managed to slip his way past an awestruck security guard, who knew there was no reason to check the guest list when such a big name as “Frida Kahlo” was involved.

 

It had taken all of his wheedling power to get Ceci to lend him another disguise, but Hector had both determination and desperation on his side. Time was running out, he had only a few hours left in which he would still have a chance at crossing the bridge, and now he didn’t even have his photo. All he could hope was that Marco hadn’t tossed it the moment the boys had run off. 

 

Hector clutched at his bruised rib as the funicular jolted into motion. Marco had a good arm on him, he thought with a grimace. The frown deepened as he played the memory out again in his mind. There was something about seeing Marco standing over him like that, while he lay panting on the ground, that sent a shiver up his spine. He didn’t know why--maybe it was just from the shock of being punched, maybe was just the look of anger on the boy’s face. To be fair, he probably shouldn’t have grabbed Miguel like that--still, he’d only been trying to help. Those two idiots where going to get themselves killed if they insisted on limiting their options for going home to only one person. Especially if that person was a celebrity that was known to avoid old friends/practically family like the plague. At least, he avoided Hector like the plague.  

 

Hector was surprised to find how much that still hurt after all these years. But then, it had been years since he’d really bothered to think about Ernesto at all. Most of the time he tried to avoid all mention or memory of the man that had once been like a big brother to him. Running around with those boys must have made him more sentimental then he’d realized...a feeling he really  _ really  _ didn’t have time for right now. Hector wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he saw those boys again, especially Marco, but one thing was for sure, he was getting his photo back. He had to. There wasn’t time to worry about anything else. 

 

***

At the same time, a dazed Imelda staggered out of an alleyway back to where Pepita was impatiently pacing. Absently she rubbed the giant panther’s side, assuring the worried alebrije that she was all right--at least physically. Emotionally and mentally, she felt like she’d been hit by a bulldozer. 

 

Marco, and Miguel, were gone, the blessing hadn’t worked. Why hadn’t it  _ worked _ ? 

 

“I’m _ not a good Rivera _ .”  Marco had said, with that horrible coldness in his voice. “ _ I’m not a Rivera at all _ .”

 

Could that be it? That he wasn’t a Rivera by blood? But that clerk had said that wouldn’t matter, as long as they all considered each other fam--

 

If Imelda had still had blood, it would have run cold. No. It couldn’t be that, could it? Even if the boy disagreed with her rules, with the music ban, surely that wasn’t enough to make him feel that he wasn’t part of the family. After all, she’d made those rules to  _ protect  _ her family. Family was the most important thing to her after all, unlike some that she could--but wouldn’t--mention. She’d never do anything to harm any of--

 

Imelda’s thoughts froze again, and she looked down at her hand. The hand that she’d used to slap Marco.

 

She’d struck a child. 

 

Imelda knew that she had a temper, though she would never have admitted that to anyone. She knew that she could be too hard, too opinionated, too stubborn  sometimes, even though she was usually right in whatever the matter was. But she’d let her temper run away with her like that--not with children, especially not her children. She’d just been...  _ so angry _ . She’d slapped He-- _ that man-- _ when he’d dared to show his face to her after she’d died. She’d thrown things at him, set Pepita on him. But she’d never taken that anger she’d felt at him out on anyone else. But just now...

 

She was used to being in control, and everything tonight had been so  _ out of control _ . Being unable to cross the bridge, Miguel bringing up that guitar, both boys running off on her, seeing Marco and that stage-- And then having Marco stand there, smirking at her, in that same way that Ernesto used to whenever he got Hector to go along with him, voicing the same whispers that she’d had to brace herself against for so long…

 

Something inside her had just-- _ snapped _ . 

 

And she’d done something she would never have done. Said things she should never have said…And now Marco was gone. And even if she found him...there was no way to send him back...

 

_ What had she done _ ? 

 

And where, where could her boys  _ be _ ?

  
  


***

 

Currently, Marco and Miguel were being swept around in a whirlwind of music, color, and meeting one dead celebrity after another. De la Cruz seemed almost giddy with delight as he showed the boys off to his numerous guests, commenting on everything from their musical skills to Miguel’s dimple. The boys where whirled from one place to another, from a game of polo played on skeleton horses (which Marco really didn’t enjoy, as he had no idea what was going on, and by the time they were done most of his face paint was gone) to acting out scenes of De la Cruz’s movies  (which Marco liked much better, mostly because of how much Miguel got into it). 

 

Finally, after singing a rousing round  of “Remember Me” with several of De la Cruz’s most distinguished guests, Marco and Miguel were resting together on a sofa, both a bit winded by all they’d just experienced, while De la Cruz chatted with his guests.

  
  


“I can’t believe we made it!” Miguel exclaimed with a contented sigh, resting his head against Marco’s shoulder. “Papa Ernesto’s amazing isn’t he?”

 

“Absolutely.” Marco agreed, resting his own head against the back of the sofa and grinning. “Poor Esteban’s party couldn’t have held a candle up to this one.”

 

“Yeah, probably not.” Miguel said with a laugh, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. “Man, nobody at home would ever believe this.”

 

Marco was silent for a long moment, then finally, dropping an arm around Miguel and pulling him closer, he said in a soft voice:

 

“Miguel...what if...what if we  _ didn’t _ go home after this?”

 

Miguel’s eyes shot open, and he looked at Marco as if he’d just suggested that they jump off of the tower.

 

“I don’t mean we should stay  _ here _ .” Marco said quickly, “I don’t wanna  _ die _ or anything. I’m just saying...we’ve gone through so much tonight. We’ve played in front of a _ real _ audience, we sung for  _ De la Cruz _ . We’re _ real  _ musicians now. If we go back home...all of that ends.”

 

Miguel didn’t say anything, but Marco could tell that this last line had struck a chord in him. He tightened his grip on Miguel’s shoulder, his tone becoming more pleading. 

 

“Once we get Papa Ernesto’s blessing, we could go off on our own, like he did. I’ve got my money jar--” He pulled it out of the satchel bag that still hung at his side to emphasize his point-- “There’s more enough here to get us to Morelia. I could get a job, and we could play all the time. Heck, I bet once people find out we’re the actual great-great grandsons of Ernesto De la Cruz they’ll be lining up to hear us. There’d be nobody to stop us, to get in the way of our dreams...we could do whatever we wanted.”

 

Marco could already see the future he was describing unfolding in front of him, and his eyes were practically glowing with excitement. Miguel was looking more excited as well...but then a shadow crossed his face, and he asked, almost to quietly for Marco to hear him:

 

“But...what about Mama, and the baby?”

 

The sentence hit Marco’s rapidly growing fantasy like a wrecking ball, shattering the images of himself and Miguel blazing across the music world with a single image of his mother clutching at her pregnant stomach, her eyes wide at the words he’d hurled at her earlier...saying that she and Papa weren’t his parents...that she wasn’t his mother…

 

But...that was true...wasn’t it?

 

“Mama...Mama will be fine.” Marco said quickly, so that he didn’t have to think about the words he was saying. “She’ll have a new baby to worry over and teach to make shoes and hate music...she’d be too busy with the baby to even worry about us.” 

 

_ She’d probably even be glad that she has a third chance to get a kid right. _

 

Miguel still looked concerned however, and Marco was starting to feel a little anxious. He had to get Miguel to agree to this. There was no way, no way that he could go back to a world without music. Not after tonight, not after all that had happened. He could never give up music again. He could always just leave himself of course...but giving up his little brother? Never getting to play or sing with him again? No. He wasn’t going to give up that either. After all, he was a De la Cruz, and it was high time that he seized his moment. 

 

“Look…” He said softly, in his most convincing tone, “It doesn’t have to be forever. Just until we make it, you know? Once we’re famous, once we’ve got to the top...well, Mama and Papa will have to see that they were wrong, and then we’ll come back.”

 

He gave Miguel’s shoulder a quick squeeze and added, grinning, “Maybe we’ll even bring the baby into the act, when it’s old enough, you know?”

 

Miguel smiled at the suggestion, and he did seem a bit more open to the idea...but not quite all the way. 

 

“Just think about it, ok?” Marco said with sigh, leaning back into the sofa once more and closing his eyes. It had been a long night after all, once they got that blessing he was going to sleep for a whole day, no matter where they ended up going. He felt Miguel head dropped back onto his shoulder, the younger boy curling up next to him. “Ok Marco...I’ll think about it.” He whispered, his voice still sounding a bit unsure. Marco, his eyes still closed, gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Everything's gonna be ok hermanito. Trust me.”

 

He felt Miguel nod, felt him slipping further down his shoulder as he began drifting off. Marco’s own head drooped down to rest on his brother’s. It really had been a  _ long _ , long night…

 

“Ninos!” Papa Ernesto’s voice called, startling both boys out of their twenty second doze. “Come, you have to meet Leo Marini, he’s here all the way from Argentina!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leo Marini has an awesome cover of Luna Lunera , which can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i01K-GIxvXU , so I had to add a little shout out to him...he's dead so he probably won't care, but I felt like it.


	12. Seize Your Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to thank everyone once again for their awesome reviews, especially sm2413, for their amazingingly lovely one :) Hope you all enjoy and please leave a comment if you are!

Slowly the party began to wind down, guests trickling out to start heading to either the Sunrise Spectacular or any other engagements they might have had. The performance the boys were meant to give was passed over in De la Cruz’s excitement at introducing them to so many people. Marco was actually rather grateful for that, as he wasn’t sure how much energy he or Miguel had left to put into a performance. How professional musicians managed to keep up their momentum on tour, doing show after show night after night, he had no idea. It must just come with experience. 

 

Finally, it was only the three of them, along with Papa Ernesto’s chihuahua alebrijes, wandering a long corridor filled to the roof with piles of offerings. Marco had never seen so much food in his life, and the number of guitars stacked like pyramids on top of eachother took his breath away. 

 

“All of this came from my amazing fans in the Land of the Living!”  Papa Ernesto explained, waving one hand at the towers around them, the other holding a sleeping alebrije. “They leave me more offerings than I know what to do with!”

 

Marco gave a long, appreciative whistle. The sheer magnitude of it all was a testament to De la Cruz’s fame in itself. Even if he hadn’t lived in a giant glowing tower, and had his face plastered all over the city, nobody could have doubted that this was someone who would be remembered for a long, long time. 

 

Remembered….

 

A quick image of Shantytown and its half-forgotten inhabitants crossed Marco’s mind. The dark ramshackle huts so different from the shining tower, the meager quality of their pilfered offerings...The amount of food in this place probably could have feed the entire town for a year, two years even. He still wasn’t sure if skeletons needed to eat but still...The image passed as quickly as it had come, but it seemed to dim some of the grandeur. The towers around him suddenly seemed...wasteful, gluttonous even.

 

Marco grimaced at the thought, trying to shake it away. After all, it wasn't  like it was Papa Ernesto’s fault that anybody in Shantytown was being forgotten. And after all of his hard work, he deserved these offerings. He was the most famous musician in Mexico after all, he’d seen it all and done it all...and Marco...well, he’d just given his first performance a little over an hour ago. What did he know about anything?

 

A hand suddenly dropped onto Marco’s shoulder, startling him out of his revere.

 

“Hey, what's wrong?” Papa Ernesto asked, looking concerned. “Is it too much? You look overwhelmed..“

 

“It...it is a _ little  _ overwhelming.” Marco admitted with an apologetic smile. “It’s just...seems so surreal. All of it. I mean, you’re the guy who  _ did  _ it.  _ You’re  _ this beloved, famous icon and I...well  _ I _ was lucky to get picked last for the soccer team as a kid--not that I wasn’t good at it!” He said quickly, not wanting his great-great grandfather to think he didn’t know  _ soccer.   _ “The other kids just...well we didn’t really get along.”

 

He blushed a little at his outburst, but Papa Ernesto only laughed and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Ah, but I wasn’t always famous my boy. And I know what it’s like to feel held back by the small minds of others. That is why it’s so important to always seize your moment when it comes, and never let yourself be kept back from fulfilling your dreams. And judging by what I’ve seen of you, I don’t think that you’ll have much of a problem doing just that.”

 

The man smiled brightly at him, and Marco beamed back. Yes, he wasn’t going to let himself be held back any longer, not by his past, not by his family, not by anything. He wasn’t that weird, music banned, shoemaking Rivera kid that nobody wanted to hangout with anymore, he  was a De la Cruz, and De la Cruz’s seized their moment. The golden future of his dreams began spreading out before him once more, bright and beckoning--

 

Only to be sidetracked as Miguel’s small voice broke through the shimmering haze to ask:

 

“Papa Ernesto...can I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course nino.” Papa Ernesto said, turning his smile on Miguel. The boy hestitted for a moment, thinking over his words before continuing. “I-I've been looking up to you my whole life. And I know how important it is to seize your moment, to follow your dream. But...did you ever regret it, choosing music over... everything else?”

 

Marco raised an eyebrow at his brother as Papa Ernesto bent down to speak to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. What was Miguel getting at? Didn’t he just hear what their great-great grandfather had said?

 

“It was hard.” Papa Ernesto admitted to Marco’s surprise. “Saying goodbye to my hometown. Heading off on my own--”

 

“Leaving your family?”  Miguel asked, his voice very quiet.

 

Marco’s heart thumped against his chest. Oh.  _ That’s _ what was happening. Miguel was asking for advice--without outright saying why he needed it. 

 

“Si.” Papa Ernesto continued, “But I could not have done it differently. One cannot deny who one is meant to be. And  _ you _ , my great-great grandsons--” He said,gesturing back at Marco as he smiled at Miguel, “Are meant to be musicians!”

 

To Marco’s intense relief, Miguel smiled back, and looking over at Marco--he gave a small nod.

 

Marco’s heart leapt at the gesture. Finally,  _ finally _ they were going to be able to move on with their lives, and live their dream together. Marco grinned back at his brother, flashing him a thumbs up as  Papa Ernesto stood up and handed Marco the sleeping alebrije so that he could place a hand on both boys backs, leading them towards a large window that overlooked the city. “You and I ninos, we are artists! We cannot belong to one family. The  _ world _ is our family!”

 

A flash of fireworks punctuated the man’s words, illuminating the city below in a rainbow of color. To the amusement of both boys, Papa Ernesto bounced on his heels like a child, grinning at the sight and cried: “Ooh, the fireworks have begun!”

 

They watched the fireworks show for a moment longer, before Papa Ernesto lead them back into the main hall, now devoid of guests, and illuminated only by the flickering lights of the old movies still playing across their screens.

 

“Soon, the party will move across town for my "Sunrise Spectacular!" Papa Ernesto said as they headed down the grand staircase, Marco depositing the slumbering alebrije into a large basket of pan dulce on their way. For such a little guy it was surprisingly heavy. Maybe it was all that spirit magic pent up inside it. But Marco’s musings on the anatomy of alebrijes were cut off as Papa Ernesto suddenly cried out:

 

“Boys, you must come to the show! You will be my guests of honor! “

 

“You mean it?!” Miguel gasped, his eyes lighting up like the fireworks outside. 

 

“Of course!” Papa Ernesto said, looking just as excited. Marco was almost over the moon at the suggestion. To get to see Ernesto De la Cruz perform live--er, sort of--that would be a dream come true. 

 

But just then, Miguel’s face fell, and he said, lifting his shirt with a sigh, “ We can't... we-we have to get home before sunrise.”

 

Marco had to bite back a gasp when he saw his little brother’s torso. Almost all of it was see-through now, perfectly displaying his small ribcage. It made Marco’s heart clench and his stomach turn. How had he forgotten so quickly? How had he lost such track of the time? They should have left ages ago. His hand, the one still covered by his skeleton glove, came up to his own chest, trying to feel if he’d reached the same state. He couldn’t tell through the fabric, but he knew it probably wasn’t good. They needed to leave as soon as possible.

 

Luckily, Papa Ernesto seemed to think the same thing. “Ay, I really do need to get you home.” He said with a grimace. He reached over to a large vase filled with flowers and plucked a couple of petals. “It has been an honor ninos, and I am sorry to see you go. I hope you both die very soon.”

 

The boys stared at him, and the man gave a quick, apologetic shrug. “Eh, you know what I mean. Who’s first?”

 

Marco pushed Miguel forward playfully, grinning as he once more said, “I’ll be right behind you hermanito.”

Miguel smiled back, before looking back at Papa Ernesto, shoulders squared like a proud soldier about to be decorated by his commander. 

 

“Miguel. I give you my bles--”

 

“We had a deal, chamacos!”

 

The group whirled around to face the source of the voice, a gangly figure who stood in shadow, hands on it’s hips, and a scowl on it’s unibrowed face. 

 

“ _ Oh por favor _ \--” Marco began as he realized who it was, only to be cut off by hearing Papa Ernesto exclaim:

 

“Oh, Frida!-- I thought you couldn't make it?”

 

Marco slowly looked over his shoulder at his great-great grandfather, eyebrows raised. He couldn’t really be falling for this charade, could he? But he was spared further thought on the subject by Hector stepping forward, shedding his disguise as he did so, a boney finger pointed angrily at Marco. 

 

“You two said you'd take back my photo. You promised, Marco!”  Hector punctated his statement with a jab at Marco’s chest, directly above where the photo still lay in his pocket. 

 

“Hey!” Marco said, swatting the hand away, “I promised to take it back if you got us to De la Cruz. If you haven’t noticed, we did that on our own!”

 

“Oh, and I suppose you got yourself into that stupid show on your own as well?!” Hector spat angrily. 

 

That made Marco pause. Hector...Hector had got them into the show, and had helped them to get over their stage fright…Marco bit his lip, feeling torn between his still hot anger and a small but steadily rising sense of of guilt. He--he  _ could _ still put the photo up he supposed...

 

“You know this, uh... man? “ Papa Ernesto asked, breaking off Marco’s train of thought. He looked back to see that his great-great grandfather had his hands placed protectively over an anxious looking Miguel’s shoulders, his own skull wearing a look of distaste as he eyed Hector.

 

“We just met him tonight.” Miguel explained, looking between the three older men with worry in his eyes. “ He told us he knew you, that you’d grown up together--”

 

“Wait... _ Hector _ ?” 

 

Hector ignored Papa Ernesto’s gasp of surprise, keeping his focus solely on Marco, a look of deep weariness settling over his skull. “Do you even have the photo anymore?” He asked with a sigh, as if he already knew the answer, “Or did you toss it over a railing the first chance you had?”

 

“No!” Marco cried, shocked that Hector could think that he was that callused…. Of course, he  _ had _ punched the man in the stomach--or where his stomach would have been anway. Shaking his head, Marco quickly pulled the photo from his jacket, holding it out to Hector, who looked so surprised to actually see it that the spring of guilt building up in Marco swelled into a stream.

 

“I-I’ve still got it…” He said quietly. Just then a skeletal hand reached over his shoulder to pluck the photo from his grasp. Marco looked over at Papa Ernesto, who was looking back and forth between the young, healthy man in the picture to the faded, ragged skeleton before him.

 

“My friend... you're being forgotten…” He said softly, staring at Hector with an unreadable expression.

 

“And whose fault is  _ that _ ?” Hector spat, pushing his way past Marco to glare up at De la Cruz.

 

“Hector, please--”

 

“Those where  _ my  _ songs you took!  _ My _ songs that made  _ you  _ famous!”

 

Marco, who’d just pulled Miguel out from between the two arguing adults, stared at Hector in astonishment.  He felt Miguel stiffened in shock beside him, aghast at the accusation.

 

“W-what?” Miguel gasped, but neither of the adults paid him any mind.

 

“If  _ I'm _ being forgotten,” Hector continued, gesturing angrily at De la Cruz, who shrank back a little from the onslaught, “ It's because  _ you _ never told anyone that I wrote them--”

 

“That’s--that’s crazy!” Marco broke in, his own voice sounding strangely desperate to his ears, “De la Cruz wrote all his own songs! Everybody knows that!”

 

Hector rolled his eyes at the remark before glaring once again at De la Cruz. “You wanna tell him or should I?” He asked sarcastically.

 

Marco waited for Papa Ernesto to deny it, to explain just how wrong Hector was. To his utter shock, Papa Ernesto actually cringed a little, before slowly saying, “Hector I-I never meant to take credit…We made a great team but...you _ died _ and I-I only sang your songs because I wanted to keep a part of you alive.”

 

Hector made a remark, but Marco didn’t hear it. He felt like the world was slowly turning upside down.  _ Hector-- _ gangly, falling apart in all sorts of ways, almost-forgotten  _ Hector  _ had written all of De la Cruz’s songs?! It was crazy! It was ridiculous! It...it actually made a lot of sense. Hector’s animosity towards Papa Ernesto, his disgust with musicians, his warnings about singing just to be heard, his reluctance to play De la Cruz’s most popular song...and the way that Papa Ernesto was speaking, that tone of voice...how often had Marco heard himself speaking in just that tone, when he was trying to put just the right spin on a story to get himself out of trouble…

 

Could Papa Ernesto actually have  _ stolen  _ all of his songs?

 

“Look,” Hector was saying, the anger in his voice once again replaced by weariness, “I don't want to fight about it. I just want you to make it right. The boys can put my photo up--”

 

“Hector--” De la Cruz tried to cut in, stepping away from the other skeleton, but Hector barreled on, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

 

“--And I can cross over the bridge. I can see my girl.”

 

Marco looked over to where Papa Ernesto stood, staring silently down at the picture. He had a vague sense that something important was happening, that something was about to give way…

 

“Ernesto…” Hector went on, almost pleadingly now. “Remember the night I left?

 

“That...was a long time ago.” Papa Ernesto said, his back still turned on the group.

 

“We drank together,” Hector said, as if trying to coax up the memory for his old friend, “ And you told me you would move heaven and earth for your amigo. Well, I'm asking you to now.”

 

“ _ Heaven and Earth _ ?” 

 

Marco looked down at Miguel, who looked up at him, eyes wide, and whispered “Like in the movie?”

 

Marco’s heart stopped beating the instant his brain registered what Miguel was trying to say. No. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. It just...couldn’t. 

 

But Miguel was already going on, explaining to a confused Hector. “That's Don Hidalgo's toast... in the De la Cruz movie,  _ El Camino A Casa _ ."

 

“I’m talking about my real life Miguel--” Hector began, but Miguel cut him off, reaching out with one hand to grab the skeleton’s wrist, pulling both Hector and Marco towards one of the flashing screens.

 

“No, it's in there.  _ Look _ .”

 

He pointed up towards the screen, where the familiar scene of Don Hidalgo’s failed attempt to poison the hero of the picture played out, the words echoing around the empty room.

 

“ _ To our friendship! I would move Heaven and Earth for you, mi amigo _ .”

 

“ _ Poison!” _

 

Marco, Miguel and Hector stared up at the screen, frozen to the spot as the realization slowly, fully, broke over each one of them. 

 

Miguel’s hand tightened around Marco’s so hard that had he still had flesh on his hands, it would have been stark white. 

 

Marco just stared up at the film, feeling like he was about to throw up. This was so- _ so _ much worse then stolen songs...

 

Hector--Hector began to speak. Slowly, distantly, as though he were seeing the past unfolding right then in front of his eyes. 

 

“That night, Ernesto. The night I left…”

 

The boys listened with wide eyes and sinking hearts as Hector’s story spilled out. His homesickness, the heated argument, the toast offered in friendship--the same words spoken, the same empty promise made...

 

“You walked me to the train station...But I felt a pain in my stomach. I thought it must have been something I ate...Or something I...  _ drank _ ...I woke up...  _ dead _ .”

 

Hector’s eyes, which had been glued to screen as he spoke, at last  turned slowly to stare at De la Cruz.

 

“You… _ poisoned  _ me.”

 

“You’re confusing movies with reality Hector.” Papa Ernesto said in a gentle tone, as if he were trying to sooth a confused child, but Marco could see that  Hector was having none of it, his rib cage was heaving, his fists were clenching and unclenching, as if he were trying to keep hold of himself.

 

“All this time I thought it was just bad luck. I never thought that you might have... that  _ you _ …”

 

Marco, his eyes locked on Hector’s, saw something inside the tattered skeleton snap, and with a cry that seemed to hold years-- _ decades _ \-- of pent up rage and sorrow Hector launched himself at De la Cruz, arms flailing wildly, trying desperately to land a punch while De la Cruz squirmed about, trying to deflect him, calling for his security guards.

 

“ _ How could you _ ?!” Hector was screaming as the guards ran in. “You took  _ everything  _ away from me!”

 

The burly guards pulled a struggling Hector up by the arms and began pulling him towards the door, Hector spitting curses all the while.

 

“Take care of him.” Papa Ernesto said, getting shakily to his feet. “H-he’s not well.”

 

“I just wanted to go back  _ home _ !” Hector cried desperately as the guards carried him off.

 

“ No, no, **_NO_ ** !”

 

The door slammed shut, cutting of Hector’s desperate, sorrowing screams, and leaving the cavernous room silent once more.

 

Marco and Miguel stood silently together, staring at the door. Marco had pulled Miguel close to him during the fight, and he could feel the boy trembling slightly in his arms. He tightened his grip around the younger boy without thinking, his mind still replaying the last few moments over and over again.

 

“I apologize.” Papa Ernesto said, his smooth voice sounded dazed and distracted, his own gaze drifting towards the closed door. “Where were we?”

 

“You...you were about to give us your blessing…” Marco said, his voice almost a whisper, as he slowly wrenched his gaze away from the door to look at the man behind him, standing still as a statue in the darkness. This time, instead of pushing Miguel forward, Marco held tight to his brother, pulling him even closer. Miguel’s hands came up to clasp the arms that encircled him, his own wide eyes now locked on De la Cruz.

 

“Yes. Uh... sí…” Papa Ernesto began, picking another petal and taking a step forward--then stopping, a strange, unreadable look falling over his face.

 

A dull pounding begun in Marco’s chest. It felt distant, but growing, as if his heart were beating out an overture, just waiting for the signal to burst into a full, discordant symphony...

 

“Ninos…” Papa Ernesto said slowly, “My reputation, it is very important to me. I would hate to have you think…”

 

“That you m-murdered Hector for his songs?” Miguel stuttered before Marco could stop him. 

 

“You don't think that.” Papa Ernesto said with a short, nervous sounding laugh, and then all traces of emotion slide from his face, and he asked :

 

“ _ Do you? _ ”

 

“No.” Marco said quickly, forcing his voice to remain calm. He had to remain calm, he had to get this situation back under control--his mind laughed wildly at that thought, he hadn’t had any control this entire night, everything had been out-of-control since the moment Miguel had found that stupid photo of De la Cruz--since the moment they’d run off to try and  _ find _ De la Cruz--now here they where,  _ with  _ De la Cruz--(his  _ great-great grandfather _ , who’d stolen Hector’s songs, who’d murdered Hector, his  _ friend _ , at  _ twenty one years old _ )--and Marco was desperately wishing that they were anywhere else. He would have even taken facing Mama Imelda again if it meant that  none of the last few minutes had ever happened...

 

“Everyone...Everyone knows you're the... the good guy…” He finished lamely. The pounding in his chest seemed to have filled his whole body now, he was amazed--in a numb sort of way--that he wasn’t swaying on the spot from the force of it.

 

Papa Ernesto said nothing, he looked at the boys, huddling together only feet away from him. He looked at the tattered picture of Hector that he’d taken from Marco, staring at it for a long moment, before slowly folding it up and placing it into his coat pocket.

 

“P-Papa Ernesto?” Miguel whispered, his voice shaking slightly, his grip on Marco’s arms tightening. “Our-our blessing?”

 

There was a long moment of silence--even Marco’s heartbeat seemed to have stopped--and then Papa Ernesto crumbled the petal. 

  
  


“Security.” He called, and the guards were there in an instant, pulling the two boys apart before Marco even realized what was happening. Miguel was reaching desperately for him, and he tried to reach back, but the guards kept them just out of reach of each other.

 

“Take care of the boys. They'll be...  _ extending _ their stay.” Papa Ernesto-- _ De la Cruz  _ said placidly, turning his back on the struggling boys.

 

“W _hat?!”_ Miguel gasped, freezing in his attempts to escape the guards as the full weight of what was happening sunk in. “ But we’re your _family_!”

 

“And Hector was my best friend.” De la Cruz called back over his shoulder as the guards began dragging the boys off in the same direction they’d taken Hector, likely to “take care of them” the same as they’d done to him. 

 

Miguel  began frantically-- _ uselessly _ \--struggling once more, he began screaming, crying--

 

And Marco snapped.

 

He threw his full weight back into the skeletal guard holding him, and an felt an furious thrill of satisfaction as he heard bones  _ snap  _ behind him. The guard dropped to his knees, releasing Marco, who promptly threw himself headlong at the skeletons holding Miguel, who in their surprise dropped the boy so that they could fend off the onslaught that was Marco.

 

He broke an ulna, he cracked a jaw. The skeleton guards were obviously out of practice when it came to fighting  someone with muscle, especially frantic, furious teenage boys who had suddenly decided they had no problem breaking bones---but Marco  _ was  _ only a teenage boy, facing off against several adults--alibet dead ones--and once the element of surprise was lost--

 

“Miguel!  **_RUN_ ** !” Marco cried, only managing to dodge half  the barrage of blows that came reigning down on him as the guards began boxing him in. He swung back wildly, white hot anger  and cold terror fuling his attack. Several more bones snapped, one guard’s head went skittering across the floor. “Run! I’ll be right behi--”

 

Something slammed into Marco’s chest. Stars rocketed before his eyes, and he dropped to his knees, desperately trying to suck in air. Apparently he was still alive enough to get the wind knocked out of him. He felt the guards grabbing on his arms, their grip vice like. His vision blurred as tears welled up uncontrollably. Through the haze of the pain, he could faintly hear Miguel screaming his name--

 

And then a pair of white boots stepped in front of him, and a bony hand tipped his chin up, forcing him to look  blearly into the bemused face of De la Cruz.

 

“You’ve got a decent swing there nino. You’d have made fantastic stuntman.”

 

Marco wanted to spit on De la Cruz’s pristine shoes, but all of his energy was currently focused on trying to breath, so he settled on glaring at the man with all hate he could muster. De la Cruz didn't seem fazed in the slightest. 

 

“ It’s nothing personal my boy, but success doesn't come for free. It’s like I told you earlier, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes to...  _ seize your moment.”  _

 

He shot Marco a sharp smile and wink, and said “ I know you understand” before releasing his grip on the boy’s chin so that his head dropped forward, still gasping. 

 

Marco wasn’t sure how long or how far the guards dragged him along, Miguel screaming for him the entire way, still vainly struggling. Marco didn’t struggle, he hung limply, whether from the pain in his chest, or the shame in his heart, he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that both he and Miguel were going to die, and it was all his fault. He was Miguel’s big brother. He was supposed to take care of Miguel, keep him safe, and happy--well he was certainly neither of those things now. And it was all his fault, because all night, instead of thinking about what was best-- _ truly best _ \-- for Miguel, in the literal life-or-death situation they were in, he’d been putting off chance after chance to send his little brother home, because he’d been trying to--

 

_ Seize his moment.  _

 

How often had he said that phrase, how long had he  _ lived _ by it? Waited and planned and schemed and lied so that he could finally live out his dream of being famous, of being like  _ De la Cruz. _ And he’d dragged Miguel along with him, into playing music behind the family’s back, into this mess they were in. He’d wanted to  _ run off  _ with the kid--drag him off to the city so that they--so that  _ he  _ could play  _ music. He’d wanted to keep Miguel from going home. _

 

The last thing Marco heard as he felt himself being flung into the air, felt himself plummeting, felt himself hit cold water with a stinging smack , felt the water enveloping his limp body-- was the long, low knell of a church bell, far, far away, mingled with the faint strumming of a guitar ...


	13. Don't Let It Make You Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a day early, because real life has been real busy! Which is also why I haven't been able to reply personally back to all the lovely reviews on the last chapter like I would have liked to. So I'll say thank you now before sending you all off into the cenote. Cheers!

Miguel hit the water hard, spikes of pain shooting through him as he began sinking below the surface. After a few moments of frantic flailing, he managed to get his head above the water, choking and sputtering as he gulped in the cold, damp air of the cenote.

 

“Marco!  _ Cough! Cough!  _ Marco?!”

 

There was no answer. Still struggling to stay afloat, Miguel whipped his head around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of his brother breaking the surface. But the only motions disturbing the water were his own desperate kicks. 

 

Then he looked down, and if he’d had a physical heart left inside him, it would have stopped.

 

Down below him,  getting further with each second, was the dark, hazy form of Marco, sinking.

 

Miguel gasped in horror, quickly turned the gasp into a gulp of air, and ducked down under the water, thrusting himself as quickly as he could manage towards Marco, who appeared to be unconscious. It took Miguel less time then he would have thought to reach him--but then there was only so much left of himself to create drag.  

 

The instant he reached him, Miguel threw his arms around Marco’s waist, feeling the same empty sensation of ribs beneath wet fabric that he felt from his own chest. He began desperately kicking his legs as hard as he could, trying to pull the bulk of his brother up towards the surface. The loss of physical muscle made Marco lighter then he would have been, but he was still too heavy for Miguel’s now fully skeletal arms to really be able to move. And his air was running out. Apparently he was still alive enough that he needed to breath. He needed to get to the surface--but he could just leave Marco here. If he still needed to breath, Marco did as well.

 

Fighting against the pressure crushing his windpipe, Miguel readjusted his grip, pushing desperately on Marco’s back. He had to get them both to the surface. Somehow, someway he would. Marco would never have given up if it was him. Marco never gave up. He had to be strong for Marco…

 

Miguel’s vision was starting to waiver, growing dim and fuzzy around the edges. His throat felt so tight…and Marco was so heavy...and he was so tired…

 

A stream of bubbles exploded next to him, shaking Miguel out of his growing stupor. He looked around, and his eyes widened in shock. He just managed to keep himself from crying out:

 

“Hector!”

 

The skeleton swam forward, wrapping his own arm around Marco’s waist and giving Miguel a push towards the surface with the other, mouthing something that looked like “Go! I got him!”

 

Miguel, who felt his earlier dizziness returning, gave a quick nod and then shot up towards the surface. He broke the water gasping, Hector coming up with Marco only second later. Working together the two managed to haul the teenager towards a rocky island in the center of the cenote, where he lay unmoving, as still as the rocks around them. His eyes closed. His chest still.

 

“M-Marco!” Miguel coughed out, crawling towards his brother. With all the strength he had left he managed to get himself sitting up so that he could grasp Marco’s shoulders, shaking them as hard as he could. He could feel himself shaking as he did so, the motion rattling his increasingly skeletal frame. But he didn’t think about that. He couldn’t. All his attention was on the still, pale face of his older brother, who he had to make open his eyes.

 

“Marco please! Please wake up!” 

 

“Chamaco, let me.” Hector said, coming up on Marco’s other side and gently pulling Miguel aside so that he could position himself over the still form. He quickly pulled off the teen’s blue charro jacket, repositioned Marco’s head and began rapidly pumping his hands against the teen’s chest. A stream of water poured from Marco’s mouth as he did so, though where it could have come from Miguel didn’t know. From the way Hector’s hands sunk down into Marco’s chest, he didn’t appear to have lungs anymore.

 

Hector repeated the motion several more times, sometimes bringing up water, sometimes not. But still Marco didn’t open his eyes or stir. And the longer Hector worked, the more Miguel felt like he was watching the skeleton work at trying to revive a doll, a mannequin. Because it couldn’t be Marco lying there, cold and pale as the moon, still as--as death...  It just couldn't. Marco was all color and movement: Bright gold eyes that always had a wink in them. Quick smiles and darting laughs. Furiously efficient shoe shining and soaring snatches of song. If those things weren’t there then Marco wasn’t...Marco wasn’t...

 

Hector had stopped pumping, and was looking down at the unmoving Marco with an expression that once  more stole the air from Miguel’s throat.

 

“N-No…” Miguel whimpered, staring at Marco, willing himself to wake up from the nightmare he was obviously having. “No-no he--he can’t, he can’t be--”

 

Hector moved over towards him, wrapping Miguel in his arms as the boy began shaking.

 

“Chamaco--I--”

 

“He can’t be dead!” Miguel cried, grasping at Hector to keep himself upright. “He--he still looks like--like him! He can’t be…”

 

“I--I don’t know Miguel I...I don’t know…Until tonight, I didn’t even know living people could cross over. I don’t know if it’s different...I just don’t know…” Hector said softly, pulling him closer, his eyes turning back to Marco’s limp form. “I just...I can’t believe he threw you two in as well.”

 

This last part was whispered, as if Hector was saying it to himself. But Miguel heard, and a wave of ice-cold guilt washed over him. If only they’d gone home sooner, if only he’d listened to Hector, to Mama Imelda, to anyone...

 

“Y-you were right.” Miguel choked out over a fresh wave of sobs. “ We-we should have gone back to our  family when we had the c-chance--”

 

“Hey, hey…” Hector began, but Miguel barrelled on, his words spilling out as quickly as his tears.

 

“They told us  _ not _ to be like de la Cruz, but I didn't listen--I ran away and Marco came after me and...and… _ It’s all my fault! _ ” Miguel sobbed, burying his face in Hector’s chest and all but collapsing into the skeleton’s arms.

 

Miguel was shaking uncontrollably now, clutching at Hector’s tattered clothes with all the strength left in him. Hector, for his part, was holding him as tightly as his brittle bones allowed, rocking the sobbing boy back and forth, and utterly at a loss for words. All he could do was hold Miguel as the boy cried and cried.

 

“ _ N-not...your...fault... _ ”

 

Came a faint voice from beside them.

 

Miguel whipped his head up so quickly that he almost knocked Hector backwards. Marco was still lying on the ground, as limp as a wet rag, which his body mostly  resembled now. But his face, though pale, was still flesh and blood. And his eyes were open. Blinking and blurry looking, but open.

 

_ “MARCO _ !”

 

And before Hector could stop him, Miguel launched himself onto Marco’s chest, causing the older boy to double up and spurt out another stream of water like a fountain, before flopping back onto the ground with a low moan.

 

“Marco! Are--are you--are you still--?” 

 

Miguel could barely get the words out through the sobs, but Marco seemed to understand him well enough, because he managed to give a weak smile and a shaky thumbs up. 

 

“Far as I can tell…” He rasped, weakly reaching up to give Miguel a one armed hug. 

 

“Well,” Hector said with a grin as he came over to help Miguel prop Marco up, “You still seem to have your good looks, so I guess you’re still among the living Chamaco.”

 

A smile twitched in the corner of Marco’s mouth, but died almost instantly as his eyes finally took in their surroundings.

 

“For now…” He whispered, and the happy mood that had begun forming between the three was swept away, leaving them huddled in the silence of of the cenote.

 

A silence that was broken all to soon as Hector suddenly--horribly-- began to spasm, golden light flickering over his bones like lighting. 

 

“Hector!” Miguel cried, reaching an arm out towards the skeleton as he began falling backwards. Marco jolted forward,  reaching out as well, but the sudden movement seemed to aggravate something in his chest, as he too doubled over in pain.

 

There was another horrible moment of silence as Miguel sat stunned and helpless between his brother and Hector, each panting heavily.

 

“S--she’s forgetting me…” Hector finally gasped out, managing to sit himself up with a little help from Miguel, who Marco had waved away from himself to help Hector.

 

“Who?”  Miguel asked, kneeling back down between the two once more.

 

“My daughter.” Hector said simply, and the ache in his voice almost palatable. 

 

“Your girl…” Marco whispered, echoing Hector earlier words. “She’s the reason you were trying to cross the bridge…why--why you wanted us to put up your photo.”

 

Hector nodded solemnly, staring up at the towering walls of the cenote that held them. 

 

“I always hoped I'd see her again. That she'd miss me... maybe put up my photo. But it never happened.”  His shoulders shook, as if he were trying to hold back sobs of his own. “I just...wanted to tell her how sorry I was...that I was trying to make it home…”

“You know the worst part?” Hector continued, his voice as empty as his skeletal frame, “Even if I never got to see her in the living world... I thought at least one day I'd see her here. Give her the biggest hug…But she's the last person who remembers me. The moment she's gone from the living world... “

 

“You disappear... from this one.” Marco said hollowly, and a horrible realization dawned on Miguel as he spoke.

 

“You'll never get to see her…” 

 

“...Ever again...” Hector confirmed, his words barely above a whisper. 

 

“...You know,” Hector said after a moment, his eyes still fixed on the opening above them.  “I wrote her a song once. We used to sing it every night at the same time, no matter how far apart we were. What I wouldn't give to sing it to her... one last time.”

 

And in a low voice, slow and soft and full of enough longing to fill the entire cenote, Hector began to sing:

 

“  _ Remember me, though I have to say goodbye, remember me...don’t let it make you cry. For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart, I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart… _ ”

 

It was as different from the version Miguel and Marco had grown up hearing as night was from day. Whereas De la Cruz sang the song in a way that almost seemed like a command, drawing all of the focus towards the singer himself, Hector’s version was a plea, almost a prayer. Gone was the brashness, the sense of being overwhelmed by the personality of the performer.   This was a simple string of notes that bridged two hearts together no matter the distance between them, be it a matter of space or time.

 

“ _ Remember me, though I have to travel far, remember me, each time you hear a sad guitar. Know that I’m with you the only way that I can be...until you’re in my arms again...remember me... _ ”

 

Marco and Miguel’s eyes followed Hector’s upward gaze as he finished, looking up at the patch of night sky that wasn't nearly as dark now as it had been, each remembering their own far away families, each realizing just how short their time really was.

 

“This is all my fault.”

 

Marco’s voice was hoarse, and there was a haunted, hollow look in his eyes that made Miguel reach out and wrap his arms around him once more.

 

“No, none of that chamaco--” Hector began sadly, but Marco cut him off with a sharp, utterly humorless laugh, the sound of which startled Miguel so much that he actually backed away just a bit from his brother, staring up at him in surprise.

 

“Y _ -y-yes. It. Is _ !” Marco coughed, that same, biting  laugh still flavoring his words, giving them an almost desperate quality, and he seemed to be speaking to himself more then Hector or Miguel.

 

“They were right, they were all right! I _am_ a bad example! _I’m_ the one who broke the rules first, _I'm_ the one who’s always dragging Miguel along after me!  I could have fixed this _hours_ ago, got us both back. But no, I had to try and get a _musican’s_ blessing so that I could _keep_ being a bad example! Well too bad he turned out to be a _backstabbing_ _murderous_ \--”

 

But here his despair seemed to get the best of him, and Marco began coughing violently once more. Hector sprag forward to help Miguel pound on the older boy’s back.

 

“Kid...you couldn't have known…”  Hector said softly, changing his pounding to rubbing small circles as  Marco’s coughing subsided. “Maybe you weren't too smart about it but you  _ were _ trying to get  yourself and Miguel home--”

 

“ _ I didn't want to go home _ !” Marco hissed, tears welling up in his eyes before he quickly turned his face away from both Hector and Miguel.  “I wanted to run off and try to make it big like  _ h-he _ did! And I...I tried to talk Miguel into it to…”

 

This last sentence was whispered with such intense guilt and  pain that Miguel felt his own eyes beginning to fill up with tears again.

 

“And you…” Marco whispered, slowly turning his face back to gaze numbly at Hector.

 

“I took your photo and just...just  _ left _ you there...after all you’d done for us.”

 

Marco’s skeleton hands, one still encased in a soggy black glove, were clenching and unclenching rapidly as he spoke, grasping at the sand of the island with a furious energy, as though trying to make up for the fact that he could no longer unleash his pain by digging his fingernails into his palms. Miguel was actually vaguely glad that he couldn't . Because with the intensity with which Marco was grasping, Miguel  was sure he would have made his hands bleed.

 

“And now…” Marco said, his breath coming out in shudders as he spoke, his eyes still fixed on Hector.  “Now you, and M-Miguel, and me...we’re all going to-to  _ die _ ...and you’ll--you’ll never see your daughter again and I’m--I’m so so s-s- _ sorry _ !”

 

And now it was Marco who was shaking uncontrollably, his arms wrapped around himself as heavy, gasping sobs tore from his throat, and streams of tears poured over his face.

 

Miguel had never seen Marco cry like this before. Not even when he’d broken his arm falling out of a tree when he was eleven. Marco was always the stronger one, confident and in control. Seeing him like this,  curled up into himself and sobbing like he’d never be able to stop...in a way it frightened Miguel more than even the thought of dying. 

 

Because Marco, unflappable, unbeatable, incredible  Marco, had been  _ broken _ .

 

And Miguel didn't know how to fix it, all he could do was hug his brother, and cry as well. 

 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I got you  _ both _ into this mess and I'm so sorry…” 

 

Marco whispered this over and over again as Miguel held him as best he could. Hector had joined Miguel, wrapping his long arms as best  _ he _ could around  _ both _ boys as they huddled together on the island. For a long moment, none of them spoke, even Marco’s whispered apologies died away, leaving only the steady dripping of water falling from the ceiling to fill the silence. And then, in a whisper so soft Miguel had to strain to hear it, Marco said: 

 

“I’m just as bad as he is…”

 

“ _ Hey _ .”  Hector’s voice rang out into  the emptiness of the cenote, and though his face was still kind, there was a firmness to his tone that reminded Miguel oddly of Mama Imelda. “Definitely  _ none _ of that now, I mean it.”

 

“But I was going to do the same thing  _ he _ did! Run off and--and _ leave  _ everyone and I--I was  _ happy _ about it! I was so-so happy about finally being able to _ seize my moment _ .”

Marco  practically spat the words out before going on, furiously swiping at the tears which were still running down his face. “I was so  _ proud _ to be related to Ernesto De la Cruz, the greatest musician of all time _ , singer, actor, songwriter!”   _

 

Marco pounded at the ground as he listed off the titles, causing Miguel and Hector to back away from him to avoid being hit by the sand he sent flying up at each blow.

 

“More like  _ thief, liar,  _ **_murderer_ ** …”

 

Marco hissed, dropping his fist to the ground one last time, biting at his lip to keep himself from sobbing again. Hector, once he was sure Marco wouldn’t throw him off, resumed rubbing his back, and Miguel wrapped his arms around one of Marco’s, wishing he knew what to say.

 

_ “You  _ should be the one the world remembers, not De la Cruz...” Marco murmured, looking up at Hector, who just shook his head.

 

“ Chamaco, it doesn’t  _ matter.”  _ Hector said soothingly, “Besides, I didn’t write “Remember Me” for the world, I wrote it for my Coco.”

 

_ Coco? _

 

Miguel’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt Marco stiffen as well. They both looked up at Hector, and then at each other, eyes wide. Miguel could tell that Marco was wondering the same impossible, incredible thing that he was…

 

_ There’s no way...there’s just no way... _

 

“Coco?” They said together, as if they were asking each other as much as Hector, who was looking at the two boys in utter confusion.

 

Slowly, Miguel reached into the pocket of his hoodie, and pulled out the soggy but still miraculously intact photo of Mama Coco, Mama Imelda, and the faceless musico with the famous guitar, and held it out to Hector.

 

Hector gingerly took the ancient photo in his hand, and the instant he saw the faces in it, he froze, his eyes wide--shock and confusion running rampant across his face.

 

“Where... where did you get this?” He gasped, his eyes still fixed on the photo.

 

Miguel didn’t know what to say. He was too much in shock himself. Even with everything that had happened tonight, every impossible thing--he’d never in his wildest dreams have expected  _ this _ .

 

“That's our Mama Coco.” He said simply, pointing at the baby who was staring up at them with a bemused expression.   “ And that's our Mama Imelda…” He went on, trying to buy himself time so that his mind could focus, so that he could ask the truly important, life changing question:

 

 “ Is that...  _ you _ ?”

 

“We’re…” Hector began, his voice catching a little as he spoke, finally tearing his eyes off the photo to look at Miguel.

 

“Family?” 

  
  


They spoke the question together, But of course, they already knew. And as the wonder of it all swept over him, all Miguel could think was: how could they have not seen it before?

  
  


“...Not me…” 

 

Both Miguel and Hector looked at Marco, who was staring down at his hands once more. He had taken off his glove and was twisting it so tightly it looked ready to snap.

 

“What?” Hector asked, with concerned confusion, resting his free hand back on Marco’s shoulder.

 

“Not me…” Marco repeated, slowly raising his head to look up at Hector. His eyes weren’t hollow anymore, and they were dry of tears, but there was still something off about them. They seemed... _ resigned _ .  Like the eyes of  someone who’d been given the worst news they could ever hear, and knew there was nothing to be done about it.

 

 “I-I’m adopted and...De la Cruz...De la Cruz actually  _ is _ my great-great grandfather”

  
  


For a long moment, Hector only stared at Marco. Then suddenly he stood, pulling Marco up with him as he did so, forcing Miguel to step back to avoid toppling over from the sudden movement. His eyes still locked on Marco’s--which were very wide now--Hector firmly grasped both of Marco’s shoulders and said:

 

“So what?”

 

“Wha--” Marco began, but once more Hector cut him off.

 

“Family isn't just the people you share blood with. Family is the people who care about you, who want the best for you, who love you, and who  _ you _ love.”

 

He took a hand off of Marco’s shoulder and motioned for Miguel, who quickly came and stood by the skeleton’s side. Hector laid his hand on Miguel’s shoulder, and pulled the boy in close to himself and Marco.

 

“Now,” He said firmly, turning his attention back to Marco. “ I’ve seen enough tonight to know that you’d do _ anything  _ for this kid, or does being related to De la Cruz change any of that?”

 

“Of course not!” Marco cried, a spark of his old fire coming back into his voice.

 

Hector grinned, looking down at Miguel as he asked, “And you Chamaco, do you care if your brother here grows up to have a chin the size of Chichen Itza?”

 

Marco’s hand shot up to his chin, a look of  horror flashing across his face--which was promptly dispelled by Miguel tackling him with a hug, sending them both sprawling onto the sand once more.

 

“No way! You’re my  _ brother _ Marco, and my best friend, and--and nothing could ever,  _ ever  _ change that!”

 

“See?” Hector said with a laugh as he helped the boys up into a sitting position. 

“ You’ve got him, and...and you’ve got  _ me _ ” He said softly, claping a hand on Marco’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

 

“If you want me. If you  _ both _ want me... I know I’m a pretty sorry excuse for a great-great grandpa--”

 

“Are you kidding?!” Miguel cried, looking back at Hector with a wide grin. “You’re an  _ amazing  _ great-great grandpa! You play music and punch alebrijes and you know Frida Kahlo!”

 

“Well actually--”

 

But Miguel cut him off with a hug that probably would have made Hector gasp if he’d still had lungs to be squished.

 

“My whole life, there's been something that made me  _ different _ …” Miguel said, smiling up at the skeleton, “ And I never knew where it came from, but know I know, it came from  _ you _ ,” Miguel declared joyfully, before turning his face around to to flash Marco a wide smile  “And  _ you _ !”

 

And letting go of Hector, Miguel threw his arms out and jubilantly yelled out for the world to hear:

 

“ _ I'm proud to be their family! _ ”

 

He followed this up with a grito so loud that it seemed to make the cenote shake with the power of it. This was quickly answered by an equally powerful grito from  _ Hector,  _ who proceeded to whirl his entire body around as he too shouted out:

 

“I’m proud to be  _ their  _ family!”

 

And for the next few moments, the cenote was filled with the sound of exuberant gritos as Hector and Miguel tried to one up each other, until finally they were cut off by the most wonderful sound Miguel had heard since they’d been thrown in--

 

The sound of Marco laughing. A real laugh this time, not tinged by spite or sadness, but warm and full as he watched his little brother and his adopted great-great grandfather jumping around each other, crowing like roosters and dancing like fools.

 

Instantly Miguel cut himself off in mid spin to slide across the sand to Marco, whose eyes were finally starting to get back their usual golden glow. Miguel knelt down so that he could look directly at his brother and whispered:

 

“I’m proud to be  _ your _ family.” 

 

Marco’s only answer was to wrap Miguel up in his arms and hold him tight. A moment later, Miguel felt Hector’s arms wrapping around them both, and they both reached out an arm to him, completing their small but happy family circle.

 

And just then, before the happy moment could fade under the realization that while they were all still family, they were also all still  _ stuck,  _ a new sound echoed down towards them from the mouth of the cenote.

 

“ _ Arrrooooowww! _ ”

 

Miguel’s head shot up at the familiar sound and his face broke into its widest grin yet.

 

“ _ Dante _ !”

 

He cried, waving up at the xolo dog high above them, which was frantically shaking its tail back at Miguel.

 

“Dante! It’s Dante!”

 

“Oh yay, the walking sausage found us.” Marco muttered sarcastically as he stared up at Dante, whose tongue was lolling out again.

 

“What’s he gonna do? Tell the sheriff we’re stuck in the well?”

 

A deafening roar filled the cavern, cutting Marco off mid-eye roll and rattling Hector’s bones. All three of them jumped, looking up with wide eyes as the huge form of  _ Pepita _ landed just behind Dante. And seated on her back, grinning down at an absolutely ecstatic Miguel was--

  
  


“Mama Imelda!” 

 

“ _ Mama Imelda _ …” Hector and Marco repeated together, sounding decidedly less enthused then Miguel was. Hector clutched at his bandaged arm, and Marco’s hand rubbed at his cheek.  

 

Mama Imelda smiled down at Miguel, and nodded a little awkwardly at Marco, but the instant her eyes caught sight of Hector her gaze became solid ice. 

 

“ _ Hector _ .”

 

“I-Imelda!” Hector repeated brightly, smiling very very nervously up at the glowering woman. “You...you look good!”

 

Miguel, looking away from Dante and Mama Imelda towards Marco saw his slap a palm to his face with a loud groan.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that that's all taken care of--on to the Sunrise Spectacular! Please like and review if you're enjoying the ride :)


	14. Aunque la Vida Me Cueste...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo boy, here it is. This is officially the longest chapter as far as I can tell. Writing this was the work of several days, so I hope you all really enjoy it! Thanks again for all of your kudos and comments!
> 
> (For some reason it's only letting me post this in HTML, so no italics :(

The wind that was whipped up by the rush of Pepita’s wings as she flew above the city was sharp and cold. Marco would have rubbed his hands across his arms to warm himself up, but he was afraid that if he tried he’d immediately fall off the creature’s back. His blue charro jacket had been forgotten in the cenote, leaving Marco only in his white collared shirt. He hoped Esteban wouldn’t kill him for losing it . He would have bought the boy a new one, but his money jar was currently floating somewhere in the cenote as well.

Pepita gave another swoop, and Marco felt his insides churning. Of all the ways he’d traveled today, air-alebrije was definitely his least favorite. Still, he was in a better position then Hector was.

“You doing alright?!” Marco called out over the roar of the wind.

“Oh y-yeah…” Hector said, none too convincingly, as he held on for dear life--er--afterlife-- to Pepita’s back leg. “This-this is nothing! You should have seen the time I tried to cross the bridge with a handmade paraglider, now that was terrifyiiiiiii--”

Pepita had just made another sweeping dive to avoid a passing trolley car. 

Miguel, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind the alebrije’s motions. He was too caught up in praising Dante for rescuing them, along with apparently thinking the dog had somehow been the mastermind behind their whole evening in the Land of the Dead.

“Dante, you knew he was our Papa Hector the whole time! You are a real spirit guide! “ Miguel said delightedly, cooing over the crossed animal in a way that made Marco roll his eyes--which instantly widened as Dante suddenly began breaking out in iridescent colors and sprouted a pair of miniscule--and utterly useless looking-- wings.

“What in the the--” Marco began, just as Miguel cried out “Whoa!”

Each of their exclamations was cut short however as Dante, attempting to use his wings for the first time, promptly plummeted through the sky beneath them.

“Dante!” Miguel cried out, but his terror was short lived, because in three seconds the dog--alebrije was flapping awkwardly alongside the gliding Pepita, panting as happily as he ever had.   
Miguel beamed up at the newly minted spirit guide, before turning to Marco with a smug grin on his face.   
“I told you he was special.”

“Yeah yeah...all right.” Marco muttered reluctantly, but he couldn’t help but grin along with Miguel. “I guess that he is pretty cool this way…” 

He cut his praise short though as Dante chose right then to flap up and pant in his ear. Marco grimaced and pushed the dog away as quickly as he could without losing his hold on Pepita’s fur. “That nose looks ridiculous though.”

And then they were landing on a rooftop, the rest of the dead Riveras flocking up to them as they dismounted and showering both boys in bony hugs and kisses, murmuring exclamations of gratitude all the while. Even Mama Imelda scooped Miguel up into a hug, to both boys surprise.

“Oh mijos! I was so worried! Thank goodness we found you in time!” She exclaimed as she clung to Miguel. Her eyes drifted up towards Marco as she spoke, and he quickly looked away. 

He wasn’t sure what he should say or do at the moment. He felt guilty for what he’d said to her earlier, horribly guilty...especially now that he knew the whole story. But his frustration was still there. A frustration born from thirteen years of feeling trapped by someone else’s decision of how his life should be...and he wasn’t sure he knew how to let that go...and that made him feel even guiltier. 

But he was spared from trying to figure out what to say to her by Mama Imelda’s gaze falling on Hector, who was standing awkwardly a little ways away from the group, his tattered hat in his hand.

“And you!” Mama Imelda said icily, releasing Miguel and rising to her full height to glare daggers at the shrinking skeleton. “How many times must I turn you away?”

“Imelda--” Hector began, but Mama Imelda was in full steam now, and there didn’t look like there was any safe way of stopping her. Marco could feel that this was a conversation that had been repeated many, many times. 

“I want nothing to do with you. Not in life, not in death!” She hissed, and Hector seemed to shrink more into himself at each word, weary resignation on his face.

“I spent decades protecting my family from your mistakes. The boys spend five minutes with you and I have to fish them out of a sinkhole!”

“It wasn’t his fault!” Miguel cried, coming between the two skeletons with his arms held out, as if to physically block Hector from Mama Imelda’s wrath. “We weren’t in there because of Hector! He was in there because of us!”

Taking advantage of Mama Imelda’s surprise at Miguel’s announcement, Marco stepped in as well. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Mama Imelda, but Hector… Hector was his friend...and he wasn’t about to let him get cut into anymore then he already had.

“He was just trying to get us home…” Marco said softly. There was no cajoling in his voice, no wheedling. Just plain and simple fact. “ But we...I didn't want to listen. I ran off with Miguel, and Hector came after us.”

“He tried to get us to go back with you.” Miguel confirmed, “And he was right, nothing is more important than family.”

Mama Imelda’s eyes widened as Miguel said this, as though she was shocked such a statement could have come from Hector. And Marco realized that she probably was shocked. Shocked, and incredulous, because as far as she knew, Hector had just run off on her. If she only knew the full story--

But Miguel was still speaking, and what he said shocked Marco to his core.  
“I'm ready to accept your blessing... and your conditions.”

What?!

Marco’s thoughts whirled violently, crashing into each other and splintering off into sharp, incomplete sentences, some in his own voice, some in others. The whole night--his whole life-- seemed to pass before his eyes in one jumbled, garbled blur.

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to do Marco?”

“Luna Lunera, cascabelera…”

“With a voice like that you’re sure to win!”

“Ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera..”

“No guitar--no more music!”

“Dile que no vivo de tanto padecer..”

“Success doesn’t come for free…”

“ Dile que a mi lado deberia volver…”

“NO YOU’RE NOT !”

“Luna Lunera, cascabelera…”

“Never play music again!”

“Ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera...”

“...but maybe it’s better to be alone...nobody to hold you back…”

“Dile que me muero, que tenga compasión…”

“I just wanted to go home!”

“Dile que se apiade de mi corazón…”

“Oh mi corazon, you’ve got such a wonderful voice…”

“But first, I need to find de la Cruz. To get Héctor's photo.”

That hadn’t been in his head, that had been Miguel, right here and right now. And not for the first time tonight, Marco found himself a little bit in awe of his brother, who had tried to use the most famous guitar in Mexico to win a talent contest, who’d gotten him to sing at the top of a grand staircase in front of thousands of celebrities, Who was willing to give up the thing he loved most to help the great-great grandfather he hadn’t known about until tonight…

And Marco realized--with a sinking feeling that chilled him to his core--that maybe he wasn’t that strong.

Because even with what he’d learned about De la Cruz, even with knowing he was related to a monster who’d murdered his best friend--his brother--just to get his songs…

Marco still loved music. 

He loved it so much that the thought if giving it up forever, even to save Hector--it was actually causing him physical pain. A sharp, throbbing pain directly where his heart would usually have been. An ache that seemed to grow stronger the more he thought about what a life without music would mean.

Giving up music--it would be like giving up part of himself, part of his soul. Music had been part of who he was for so long. It was what drove him, what motivated him. Music, music was the most important thing to hi--

No.

Miguel...Miguel was the most important thing to him. Miguel was the one he’d first defied the music ban for. Miguel was the one he’d bought the guitar for. Miguel was the one he’d thought of to get over his stage fright.

Miguel was the one he’d wanted to share his dream with.

So if he had to choose between having Miguel and having his dream…

Well, family came first.

“We need to get it so he can see Coco again.” Miguel was explaining to Mama Imelda as Marco came back to himself. “Hector should be on our ofrenda. He's part of our family--”

“He left this family!” Mama Imelda cut in indignantly, but Marco--despite his own inner turmoil-- was determined to get over that particular obstacle here and now. 

“He tried to go home to you and Coco!” He declared firmly, stepping over to Hector and laying his hand on the man’s shoulder bone as sign of support. “ But De la Cruz murdered him!”

If Mama Imelda visibly started as he said this, her eyes flickering to Hector’s, as if asking for confirmation.

“It's true, Imelda.” Hector said softly, shrinking guiltaly away from her gaze as if the fact was somehow his fault.  
Mama Imelda seemed to be having some sort of inner struggle, before her face became iron once more and she cried , “And so what if it's true?! You leave me alone with a child to raise and I'm just supposed to forgive you?!”

“What do you mean So what if it’s true?!” Marco shot back, that same fire from his former confrontations with Mama Imelda sparking back into life. “I think being murdered counts as a pretty good excuse for any--”

“Hector!”

Miguel’s cry cut the argument off before it could even begin, and both Marco and Imelda gasped as they saw Hector once more convulsing with golden light, his bones fluttering in and out of existence as he fell to his knees, Miguel rushing to his side to help.

“I'm running out of time.” Hector panted as the fit subsided. “ It's Coco…”

“She's forgetting you…” Mama Imelda whispered, staring down at Hector in shock...and something else Marco couldn’t quite place.

“You don't have to forgive him…” He said quickly, coming over to help Miguel raise Hector back to his feet. 

“But we shouldn't forget him.” Miguel added, looking at Mama Imelda pleadingly.

 

Once more, Mama Imelda seemed to be wrestling with herself. This time when she spoke, her words were still firm, but softer then they had been.

“I wanted to forget you.” She said, looking Hector over with a lifetime of pain in her dark eyes.  
“ I wanted Coco to forget you too, but-- “

“This is my fault, not yours.” Hector said quickly, staring back at his wife with just as much pain--and even more guilt. “ I'm sorry, Imelda.”

Mama Imelda looked away quickly, and when she looked back, she focused her gaze solely on Miguel, being careful to avoid the sight of Hector. 

“Miguel, if we help you get his photo... you will return home? No more music?”

Slowly, Miguel nodded. And Marco felt a shock run up his spine as Miguel repeated the words he himself had thought only moments earlier. 

“Family... comes first.”

“And you Marco... “ Mama Imelda was saying slowly, breaking into his thoughts, eyeing his with apprehension… and maybe even a little fear. Not of him exactly, he thought, but of how he’d react to her asking. 

“Are you willing to accept my conditions?”

It took everything Marco had. And even as he tried to fill his mind with thoughts of Miguel and Hector-- he still felt like he was ripping himself apart as he said:

“...Yes.” 

Mama Imelda breathed a sigh of relief, before turning back to Hector. 

“ I-- I can't forgive you.” She said firmly, but the hardness in her eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly as she added: “ But I will help you.”

And turning quickly from Hector, she asked with surprising determination,

“So, how do we get to de la Cruz?”

“I... might know a way…” Miguel said thoughtfully, a grin creeping across his face.

Marco--remembering the last time he’d seen Miguel grin like that back before their little performance in De la Cruz’s mansion-- couldn’t help but grimace.

“You know, I’m starting to really hate when you get that look…”

***  
Some time later, a small group of skeletal dancers dressed as Frida Kahlo snuck into the wings of Ernesto De la Cruz’s Sunrise Spectacular, as a distracted audience “ooh”ed in confused awe at the sight of the giant, burning, unibrowed cactus that filled the stage.

“Good luck muchacho!” The Real Frida Kahlo whispered to the smallest dancer as he passed her by.

“Thanks Frida!” Miguel whispered back with a smile as he and the rest of the Riveras slipped backstage.

“You must have made a very good impression on her Miguel.” Papa Julio said proudly as he began removing his costume.

“Si, I can’t believe she went along with this!” Tio Oscar added as he shooed Dante out from beneath his skirt.

“I can’t believe she had costumes that fit all our sizes.” Tio Felipe said with a grin as he tried to pull off his own.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this costume in the first place.” Marco grumbled as he struggled with his top, his face as red as the flowers in his hair. “If anyone ever finds out about this--”

“Oh don’t worry so much Chamaco.” Hector cut in, a wry grin on his face. “I think that blue really brings out your eyes--”

“Shut. Up.” Marco snapped, and for the first time that night he felt a sense of camaraderie with Mama Imelda as she too snapped at Hector when he tried to help her out of her costume.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Miguel asked as soon as everyone was out of their costumes and back in their regular clothes.

“Find Hector's photo.” Tia Victoria began.

“Give it to Marco or Miguel.” Papa Julio added.

“Send the boys home.” Mama Imelda finished.

“Got your petals?” Hector asked, and each family member quickly held up a cempasuchil petal before breaking their huddle and heading out into one of the passages that ran behind the amphitheatre, Mama Imelda leading the charge.

“Now, we just have to find de la Cruz--” 

“Yes?”

The entire rest of family slammed into each other in their efforts to stay around the corner and out of sight as Mama Imelda skidded to a stop right in front of De la Cruz. The instant the man saw Imelda the smile that had been on his face dropped.

“Don't I know you?” He asked, suspicious creeping into his voice. But whatever thoughts may have been coming together in the mariachi’s mind where instantly scattered as Mama Imelda swung her boot so violently that it made De la Cruz’s skull spin like a top.

“Ooh!” Marco hissed in appreciation, his fingers once more brushing his cheek. And he thought his slap had been hard.

“That's for murdering the love of my life!” Mama Imelda spat, readying the boot for another blow.

“Who the?” De la Cruz began, trying to get his head on straight. But he was cut off as Hector stepped out from behind the corner, looking defiant and crying:

“She's talking about me!”

But Hector’s stoic face instantly melted to one of adoration as he looked at Imelda, his hand on his ribcage. “I'm the love of your life?”

“I don't know I'm still angry at you!” Mama Imelda hissed, rolling her eyes and stepping away from Hector.

Meanwhile, De la Cruz finally seemed to have caught up with what was going on. 

“Hector!” He cried, looking both shocked and angry. “How did you--”

But Mama Imelda’s boot cut him off once more, sending his head spinning in the opposite direction. Marco felt his appreciation for Mama Imelda growing with each spin.

“And that's for trying to murder my grandsons!” Mama Imelda added as De la Cruz’s skull once more came to a halt.

“Grandsons?!” The skeleton sputtered, but his question was answered as Miguel leapt out as well, mimicking Hector’s stance.

“She’s talking about us!” He cried, jerking a thumb back in Marco’s direction.

“You!” De la Cruz cried, astonished fury shining in his eyes. 

“Hola.” Marco said dryly, rolling up his sleeves threateningly as he stepped out to stand behind Miguel.

“Wait--” De la Cruz said, shooting both the boys--but especially Marco--a very confused look. ”You’re related to Hector?”

But the questioning moment was cut short as Miguel spotted something sticking out of De la Cruz’s jacket pocket.

 

“The photo!”

Hearing this, the rest of the family jumped forward, ready to fight there and then.  
For a moment it looked as though De la Cruz was going to confront them, and Marco put up his fists in preparation. But in the next second the skeleton had turned tail and began running down the corridor, frantically calling for his security team.

“Cobarde!” Marco spat as he watched De la Cruz dash away. To think he had once looked up to this man, had been proud to be related to him.

“After him!” Mama Imelda cried, brandishing her shoe out like a general directing their troops with a sword. And together the Riveras sprinted after the rapidly fleeing skeleton. 

“You said-- love of your life--" Hector huffed as he tried to keep up with Imelda, reignited hope and utter adoration shining in his eyes for all to see.

“I don’t know what I said!” Was Mama Imelda’s exasperated reply, and she tried to increase her pace as they rounded another corner, but Hector stayed right by her side despite her efforts to pass him.

“That’s what I heard!” Miguel said cajoling, keeping up surprisingly well with the older Riveras and shooting them both meaningful looks. Marco couldn’t help but smirk. For a kid who rolled his eyes everytime something slightly mushy happened in a movie, Miguel definitely had a bit of romantic streak in him. But the teasing was cut off abruptly as De la Cruz’s security guards jumped in front of them, blocking their pursuit.

A brief but furious fight broke out. Papa Julio charged a guard head on like an angry bull. Tio Oscar detached Tio Felipe’s arms and waved them around like something out of a kung fu movie while his brother kicked and headbutted wildly. Two guards blocked Miguel, Hector and the Tias, but Marco and Mama Imelda managed to slide past them. Mama Imelda threw herself at De la Cruz, clawing at his coat. Marco stopped for a moment to help up a stagehand who De la Cruz had pushed over in his haste to escape the Riveras. 

“Sorry about this.” Marco said as he raised the shaken skeleton to his feet. “Senor De la Cruz is having a bad night--” He was cut by a sudden cry from Mama Imelda, and saw that though she was still struggling with De la Cruz, she’d managed to grab the photo!

“And it’s about to get worse!” He finished with a grin as he leapt back into the fight.

He jumped De la Cruz from behind at the same moment Miguel leapt at the man from the front, and the three tumbled over each other as Mama Imelda stumbled backwards, free from De la Cruz’s grasp.

“Ninos! I have it!” She cried triumphantly.

Marco pulled Miguel up off of De la Cruz just in time to avoid being caught by his security guards. Pushing his brother behind him, Marco held up his fists, ready for a rematch. But at that moment--to his horror--he saw that Mama Imelda, caught on a platform, was rising rapidly up to the stage!

Realizing they didn’t have anytime to waste, Marco kicked up sharply, and was satisfied to see that the action still produced the desired effect, even on skeletons. The guard slumped to the floor with whimper, even as Dante flew in and took off the head of his partner, leaving the Riveras an opening to continue their chase.

“Come on!” Miguel cried, leading the family to the stairs, Papa Julio Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe staying behind to hold off the security team.

“You guys got this?” Marco called, pausing on the landing.

“Ah, we’ll be fine!” Tio Felipe called back cheerfully as he headbutted another gaurd.

“Yeah, after growing up with Imelda, these guy are nothing!” Tio Oscar added, easily disconnecting another guards skull with a swipe of his brother’s arm. “You should have seen us trying to fend her off after we read her diary! Now that was intense!”

“You go on nino, we’ll be fine!” Papa Julio assured him, smiling kindly before launching himself at the guards with a cry equal to any luchador.

“If you’re sure!” Marco said with a shrug, and he took off once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” He heard the announcer cry as he raced up the stairs and into the wings after the rest of the family. “ The one, the only... ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ!”

The crowd went wild, only to sputter to a stop as they saw that the figure who’d risen up was not Ernesto De la Cruz, but a wide-eyed female skeleton, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

Miguel and Hector were staring up at her nervously, and it wasn’t just because she was on stage in front of thousands of people. Another security team was creeping towards her platform from the other side of the stage, urged on by a furious De la Cruz.

“Sing!” Miguel hissed up at Mama Imelda, who looked like she was about to start hyperventilating.

“What?!” Marco sputtered as he came to stand beside his brother and Hector. The fight must have rattled his little brother’s brain if he thought Mama Imelda was going to--

“Sing!” Miguel repeated more urgently, as the murmering from the crowd grew louder, and the guards grew closer. And to the amazement of every Rivera watching, Mama Imelda reached out, took the microphone in her hand--and opened her mouth:

“Ay de mí, llorona llorona de azul celeste...”

Marco and Hector’s mouths dropped open. Tia Victoria and Tia Rosita’s eyes went wide as saucers. Miguel looked both thunderstruck and ecstatic at the same time. Even the guards seemed shocked, and paused in their advance to stare up at the woman.

Taking advantage of this, Miguel quickly grabbed a spare guitar from it’s rack, shoved it into Hector’s hands, and hooked up a microphone in front of the awestruck skeleton, who began playing automatically, seemingly spellbound by what he was seeing and hearing.

“Ay de mí, llorona llorona de azul celeste…” Mama Imelda repeated, glancing quickly over at Hector as she heard the music. The skeleton nodded encouragingly up at her, and to Marco’s astonishment, she actually smiled back.

“Y aunque la vida me cueste llorona, no dejaré de quererte--” Her singing--and her smile-- intensified as the guards drew nearer, and she began descending the stairs, holding out Hector’s photo. 

“No dejare de quererte!”

The orchestra, finally deciding this must be part of the show, joined in as Mama Imelda launched fully into the song, her face lighting up like the spotlights shining down on her. And the crowd went wild.

“Me subí al pino más alto, llorona, a ver si te divisaba. Como el pino era tierno, llorona al verme llorar, lloraba.”

 

Marco wondered vaguely if a sandbag had fallen on his head and knocked him out during the earlier scuffle, because that was the only thing he could think of to explain what he was seeing. Because if there were two things that did not mix, could never mix, it was Mama Imelda and music. This was the woman who had started the ban after all! Whose personal conviction had been powerful enough to carry across four generations. Who had been dead set on sending him and Miguel home with only the strictest anti-music conditions-- So he had to be hallucinating the scene before him. Because Mama Imelda was currently waltzing around the stage and the guards as if she’d rehearsed it, vamping like a pro. Mama Imelda was singing--and she was good! She was very good.

“Ay de mí, llorona llorona de azul celeste…” 

She was almost to them, the picture in her hand--and then suddenly De la Cruz was there as well, singing in perfect harmony as he spun her around the stage, Mama Imelda just barely managing to keep the photo out of his grasp with each spin. 

Ay de mí, llorona llorona, llorona de azul celeste. Y aunque la vida me cueste, llorona, no dejaré de quererte!” 

Hector was still playing the guitar, but he looked as if he was ready to jump out on stage himself and smash it over De la Cruz’s head the longer he watched his murderer manhandling his wife. And when De la Cruz managed to get the photo out of Mama Imelda’s hands, Marco nearly jumped out himself. But in the next second Mama Imelda’s trusty boot came down firmly on De la Cruz’s foot, sending the mariachi into a howl of pain that the enthusiastic audience seemed to think was a grito from the way they joined in.

And then she was leaping into Hector’s arms, the two of them spinning around and grinning madly at each other, before Mama Imelda realized what she doing and quickly slipped out of Hector’s embrace, though the smile remained on her face.

“I forgot what that felt like…” She said breathlessly, fumbling with Hector’s photo as Hector grinned shyly back at her. “You... still got it.” He said tenderly, rubbing at his arm and edging a bit closer. And this time, Mama Imelda didn’t pull away.

“Ahem.” Marco said, smiling knowingly at the two skeletons as he pushed a grinning Miguel forward. “Not to interrupt anything but we are a bit rushed for time here.”

“Oh!” Mama Imelda said, remembering. She reached out and took the petal Miguel offered her, handing him Hector’s photo, still smiling slightly at Hector as she did so.

“Miguel, I give you my blessing.” She began, and the petal glowed brightly in her hand.

“To go home... to put up our photos…” And Imelda shot Hector another smile as she said this. Marco rolled his eyes, smiling himself. If these two had been this obvious about how they’d felt about each other in life than living with them then must have been like living in one of his Tia Gloria’s romantic telenovelas--which he definitely only watched in passing.

“And to never--” Mama Imelda continued, holding the burning petal out towards Miguel, whose face fell as he sighed:

“Never play music again…” 

The warm feeling that had been growing inside Marco as he’d watched Mama Imelda and Hector together disappointed in a cold wave as he remembered just the kind of life they were going back to...but he’d made his decision. Family came first...

“To never... forget how much your family loves you. “ Mama Imelda finished, smiling at the suddenly stunned looks on the boys faces, which broke into wide grins as they looked at eachother.

“You’re going home ninos.” Hector said warmly, looking at the boys in a way Marco had only seen his father look at them before. A lump suddenly swelled up in his throat. He was going to miss Hector, he was going to miss all of the Riveras. Even Mama Imelda. But they had other family waiting for them, and it was time to go home--

“You’re not going anywhere!”

Before Marco could even react, Miguel was suddenly yanked from his side and away from the glowing petal. De la Cruz held him aloft like a trophy, a look of utter rage twisting his usually handsome face.. With a cry of fury Mama Imelda launched herself once more at De la Cruz, but the man batted her away like a wasp, throwing her into Marco, who managed to catch her awkwardly as Hector rushed to her side. De la Cruz continued to back away from the Riveras, keeping a vice like grip on the hoodie of a struggling Miguel.

“Stay back! Stay back. All of you!” De la Cruz snarled as he pulled Miguel away, backing closer and closer to the edge of the roof. The Riveras cautiously kept up their advance however, and a snarling Dante attempted to pull Miguel from De la Cruz’s grasp, only to have the man pull Miguel right out of his hoodie, flinging him back onto the ground. 

“Ernesto, stop! Leave the boy alone!” Hector cried desperately. Light was sputtering across his bones once more, and he fell to the ground before any of the Riveras could catch him,still reaching out for Miguel. Marco dropped to his side, trying to steady the fallen skeleton. He had to do something to keep himself from attacking Dela Cruz. Who knew what the man would do to Miguel if he tried. But it wasn’t easy.The world seemed to have shrunk around them, with Miguel at the center of it, staring back at Marco with wide, terrified eyes.

“I've worked too hard, Hector!” De la Cruz said, looking back at Hector with a wild look in his eyes. “Too hard to let him destroy everything--”

“He's a living child, Ernesto!” 

“He's a threat!” De la Cruz snapped, and in the intensity of the moment his voice seemed to echo around them.

 

“You think I'd let him go back to the land of the living with your photo? To keep your memory alive? No!”

“You’re a coward!” Miguel cried, springing to his feet, his fist clenched and shaking. Marco reached out a hand, trying to signal to Miguel to stop talking--but De la Cruz had already turned on him, stalking towards him with open menace.

“I am Ernesto de la Cruz, the greatest musician of all time!”

“Hector’s the real musician.” Miguel declared, pulling himself up to his full height and glaring daggers at De la Cruz. “ You're just the guy who murdered him and stole his songs!”

“I am the one who is willing to do what it takes to seize my moment!” De la Cruz spat, grabbing Miguel by the shirt front and hoisting him into the air. “Whatever it takes.”

For one terrible, heartstopping second, Marco couldn’t even registar what he was seeing. One moment, Miguel was being held aloft by De la Cruz, and the next--

The next everyone was screaming. 

“MIGUEL!”

Marco didn’t even realize he was screaming. Didn’t realize that his feet were carrying him to the edge of the building, didn’t realize that the figures he was fighting off--who tackled him to the ground before he could go over himself--were Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe. The only thing he could think of was the naked fear on Miguel’s face as his little brother disappeared. As De la Cruz dropped him to his death, without any hesitation, without any remorse.

De la Cruz. 

Marco’s thoughts suddenly and sharply came into focus. De la Cruz was walking away from the stunned Riveras, sauntering past a destroyed looking Hector, saying something as he passed--

“Apologies old friend, but the show must go o--”

That was as far as he got before Marco slammed into him.

The two rolled across the floor in a frenzy. Marco slamming his fists into any part of De la Cruz he could reach. And this time he wasn’t punching to make someone let go, he wasn’t fighting to get himself free. No, he had a very different goal in mind this time.

The trouble was, De la Cruz was managing to land almost as many punches as Marco. The claim about doing his own stunts was obviously true enough. And though Marco was mostly still alive--it was only mostly, and De la Cruz was much bigger and stronger then he was. And being hit straight on the bone, with no muscle to cushion the blow hurt beyond anything Marco could have imagined. But he didn’t care. Not about the pain, not about the cries of his family as they watched the two fight. Not the fact that the sky was slowly getting lighter. None it mattered anymore. The only thing he cared about was making sure that he broke single every bone in De la Cruz’s body.

The fury of the fight took them through the curtain, and now they were fighting on stage, in front of a breathless audience, too shocked to do anything but stare in awe and horror at the scene taking place.

“Why?!” Marco cried wildly as his fist flew, one landing a blow on De la Cruz’s ribs, the other blocking a punch to his own.

“No one threatens my reputation!” De la Cruz hissed, apparently oblivious in the heat of the moment that he was fighting a sixteen year old in front of a crowd of thousands.

“He was twelve!” Marco screamed, and the horror of what he just said slammed into him as hard as any punch.

He was twelve. He was twelve. He was only twelve.

“What do you think a twelve year old was going to be able to do?!”

“You Riveras will do anything that stubborn shrew tells you to do!” De la Cruz snarled, slamming himself into Marco with enough force that Marco fell onto his back. Before he could get up again De la Cruz was on top of him, fingers around what was left of his throat, a crazed look in his eyes, the look of a man who’d been pushed to the brink by fear and paranoia.

“He’d have found someway to ruin me! But now…” And he tightened his grip so much that Marco felt his vertebrae being squeezed. “Neither of you will get the chance.”

His snarl curled into a jagged smile as he watched Marco struggle, grasping at his throat. “But you could never have gotten the better of me anyhow. None of you have any real drive, no true ambition! Not that boy, not Hector," He spat, and the smile became a snarl once more.

“ You all need that woman to lead you around. Maybe it took a Rivera to write those songs, but it was Ernesto De la Cruz who made them famous! Your pitiful family would have squandered them!”

The grip around Marco’s neck became, if possible, even tighter, as De la Cruz leaned down to hiss into Marco’s ear. “You think you can make a fool of me boy? Well, Hector couldn’t--he tried to leave me high and dry, and look what happened to him-- No Rivera will ever make a fool of Ernesto De la Cruz!” 

“M--na--riv--”

“What?” De la Cruz snapped, though it was obvious he had no intention of letting Marco speak. But at that moment a tomato hit him squarely in the face, followed by a rapid succession of other assorted vegetables, raining down on De la Cruz from the booing crowds above. And in his attempts to block the barrage, the skeleton took one hand from Marco’s throat, which was all the opening the boy needed.

“I said--” Marco gasped as the grip on his throat came loose. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Rivera.”

And he slammed his fist through De la Cruz’s ribcage.   
The skeleton buckled over with a wrenching gasp, heaving as he fell to his knees. Marco was up in an instant, a mic stand in his hands. He raised it above his head like an executioner’s sword,directly above De la Cruz’s skull, ready for the final blow.

“P-please…” De la Cruz gasped, looking up at Marco with blank fear. Marco almost spat in disgust, but instead, he raised the mic stand higher, and said mockingly: “Hey, I’m just doing what you told me to do Papa Ernesto--seizing my moment.”

And his mouth twisted into a perfect imitation of De la Cruz’s smile as he added, 

“ I know you understand.” 

The mic stand came swinging down--and fell out of Marco’s startled hands as the crowds above him abruptly burst into cheers, all of them pointing up at the jumbo screens. Marco’s head spun around--and a raw cry of amazement burst from his throat as he saw a mostly skeletal but still alive Miguel slide from the back of Pepita into the arms of his family. 

De la Cruz utterly forgotten, Marco raced backstage, falling to his knees as he reached Miguel who leapt into his arms, both of them crying freely, holding each other as if they were afraid the other would disappear if they let go.

Pepita slunk past them, back the way that Marco had came, and through the haze of emotions whirling in his mind Marco thought he heard De la Cruz scream, and the crowd cheer. But all of his attention was suddenly taken up by Hector, who had began shuddering once more--and much more violently then Marco had ever seen.

“Hector!” Miguel cried,leaping from Marco’s arms to reach out towards the shuddering skeleton. “The photo, I-I lost it--” He began, fresh tears in his eyes, but Hector waved the words away. 

“It's okay, mijo. It's--” But another violent shudder ripped across Hector’s form, sending him crashing to the floor. With cries of alarm the family gathered around him, Mama Imelda raising his head while Miguel desperately called his name. All Marco could do was stare down at his adopted great-great grandfather with mute horror. This couldn’t be happening, after all that they’d gone through already, not this--

“Coco…” Hector whispered, and Marco felt tears running down his face once more. 

“No! We can still find the photo--” Miguel began, but Mama Imelda cut him off, gesturing desperately towards the horizon, her voice strained in a way that Marco had never heard before.

“Ninos it’s almost sunrise!”

Marco looked out to where faint streaks of golden light where peeking over the misty waters that surrounded the city. Then he looked over at Miguel, and had to bite back a gasp as he realized that he could see his brother’s skull. Miguel was looking at him with the same kind of muted horror, but he was still shaking his head, speaking desperately to Hector as he did so.

“No, no, no, I can't leave you! We promised we’d put your photo up! That you’d see Coco again!”

Hector’s hand, trembling violently, reached up to stroke Miguel’s face, vainly trying to wipe away the young boys tears. “We’re both out of time mijo.” He rasped. He turned his face towards Marco, giving him a look that seemed to say, “Help him understand.”

“Miguel we--we have to go!” Marco choked, reaching out to hold his shaking brother, who pushed him away with surprising fierceness. 

“No, no! S-she can't forget him! We have to--”

“Miguel!” Marco said firmly, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and forcing him to look him in the eye. “There’s no more time!”

“Just--just let her know that I loved her…” Hector whispered, mustering the last of his strength to hold up a marigold petal in his shaking hands. 

“You go first Miguel.” Marco whispered, giving his sobbing brother a quick hug before pushing him closer to the petal, now being held by both Hector and Imelda.

“You have our blessing, Miguel.” Hector said softly, “No conditions.” Mama Imelda added, with meaningful look at Marco as the petal began to glow. 

“No, Papa Hector, please!” Miguel sobbed, his eyes still fixed on Hector. The golden light crackling over Hector was beginning to mingle with the steadily growing sunlight. Miguel’s face was becoming even more transparent. Marco knew they only had moments left to spare.

“Go home…” Hector said, his voice very faint now.

“I promise I won't let Coco forget you! Aaahh!--” Miguel’s cry was cut short as Marco pushed him into the glow of the petal--and then he was gone.

If he’d had anytime, Marco would have breathed a sigh of relief, but before he could do anything Mama Imelda grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him in close.

“Marco!” She gasped, fear in her voice as she held out the petal. “We give you our blessing! Go home! Go home!”

The flower petal touched his chest, glowing as brightly as a small sun against the rays of the true one coloring the sky. But--something was wrong.

He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t breath. And he felt so cold. Everything was going black…he felt like he was drowning all over again. 

And in that instant Marco knew.

He’d run out of time.

He was never going to see Miguel or Mama or Papa again--or at least, not for a very very long time. He’d never hold the new baby, never get to mess around with his cousins or learn about shoes from his Tios and Tias or get over fed by Mama Elena or sit and talk to Mama Coco. He’d never get ot tell his parents how sorry he was--for everything. He wasn’t ever going home again... 

But...He’d made sure that Miguel had made it home. Despite everything else, every other mistake he’d made that night, made across years, he’d kept the promise he’d made so long ago.

And as that thought filled Marco, even as the darkness took him, he felt a sense of peace. He almost thought he heard the far away thrum of a guitar once more. But instead of being a sinister sound, this tune was simple and calming. Forgiving. It carried a sense of old wrongs finally made right.. The sound soothed Marco to his soul. He didn’t feel cold anymore, even the darkness seemed to be brightening--

And then he felt himself fall.


	15. Remember Me...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! First thank you all again for your wonderful comments! Sorry I couldn't reply to them all, it's been busy :( But reading all of your great comments keeps me going, I never thought so many people would read this fic, and I'm so glad to be able to share it with you.

Marco felt himself slam into something cold and solid and very hard. Light was all around him, tugging at him to open his eyes. Slowly, painfully, frightened of what he might see when he did-- Marco opened them.

 

He was lying on the mausoleum floor, sunlight was pouring through the windows, the skull guitar lay inches from his face. And hovering above him, tears staining his cheeks, was a terrified looking Miguel.

 

“T-t-t-told you I’d be right behind you…” Marco stuttered, trying to sit up. He felt stiff and shaky at the same time, as though he’d been in a long fevered sleep and had finally been able to wake up.

 

“I woke up and you weren’t there…” Miguel said quietly. “I--I thought--” But he couldn’t seem to get himself to voice the words. “Then the petals started glowing...and the guitar--the guitar started  _ playing on it’s own _ and--and then you were back…”

 

The two just stared at each other for a moment, each trying to come to grips with just how close Marco had come to not coming home at all.

 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Miguel finally said in his best imitation of Mama, as he flung his arms around Marco. Marco returned the hug with a small grin. “Trust me, I don’t plan on making a habit of it.”

 

They pulled back from the hug to smile at each other--and then both their smiles slipped off as they cried out together:

 

“ _ Mama Coco! _ ” 

 

“Go!” Marco urged, waving Miguel towards the door. Miguel shot up, hesitated, then shook his head. 

 

“Not without you.”

 

“Miguel!” Marco cried with exasperation, “Who knows how much time we have?! Don’t worry about me! I’ll be ok--”

 

“You don’t know that!” Miguel cut in, tears falling once more down his face. “You almost died  _ twice _ tonight! I can’t leave you here. I’ve--I’ve got to get  _ you _ home too.”

  
  


Marco almost started to argue again, but stopped as he took in Miguel’s determined, but worried face. Miguel had been through so much tonight, more than any kid his age should...and it wasn’t over yet. If Marco made him leave him here, if he sent him off to try and save Papa Hector’s memory alone, worrying all the while that his brother was slowly dying alone next to the crypt of a murderer…

 

No. He knew Miguel well enough to know that the longer he argued with him, the more time they’d lose. Good old Rivera Stubbornness.

 

So sighing deeply, Marco held out his hand.

 

“Ok...help me up.”

***

They ran down the hill as fast as they could, Marco holding the guitar as Miguel did his best to support his still shaking older brother. But he didn’t have to support him for long.

Marco didn’t know if it was just his own strength coming back, the urgency of the situation, or maybe some last vestiges of Dia de los Muertos magic left within the guitar, but the aching exhaustion he’d felt in the crypt  seemed to be flowing out of him the closer they got to home, replaced by a rush of urgent energy that seemed to fill him from his head to his feet. By the time they’d entered the town, Miguel had gone from holding Marco upright to holding his hand as tightly as he could in order to keep up with him.

 

They ran through the plaza, past the statue of De la Cruz, down the streets lined with memorabilia shops of the mariachi, past a bench where Tio Berto and Abel were slumped against each other, Tio Berto jolting awake as they passed him, causing Abel to fall right off the bench. They nearly ran headlong into Papa--who looked as if he had been wandering the city all night without sleep--and though his cries made Marco’s heart twist with guilt at the worry he’d put his parents through, he didn’t stop. They  _ couldn’t  _ stop. Papa Hector was counting on them--

 

If they hadn’t failed already.

 

They were at the door of the hacienda. They were inside the courtyard. They were almost to Mama Coco’s room---when Mama Elena appeared from nowhere, blocking their path.

 

“Where have you  _ been _ ?!”  She cried, her voice an equal mix of frantic worry that they’d been missing and outraged fury for running off now that she knew they were alright.

 

“We-we need to see Mama Coco,  _ please _ !” Miguel gasped as they skidded to halt, but just then Mama Elena caught sight of the guitar still clutched in Marco’s hand, and he could have sworn her eyes burned red.

 

“What are you doing with that?” She cried with furious indignation . “ _ Give it to me _ !” 

 

Mama Elena made a lunge for the guitar, but holding it high above his head with one hand and scooping Miguel up with the other, Marco barreled past her, threw Mama Coco’s door open with a kick, tossed both Miguel and the guitar onto the bed--as gently as he could-- before throwing himself against door just in time lock Mama Elena out.

 

The woman pounded on the door, yelling the names of both boys louder than either of them had ever heard her yell before. But the brother’s attention was fixed solely on Mama Coco, who was sitting slumped in her chair, oblivious to the yelling and commotion, and apparently everything else as well. Her face was completely blank, and she seemed to be sinking into herself even as they watched, her eyes staring listlessly at the wall before her.

“Mama Coco?” Miguel asked softly, kneeling next to her. “Can you hear me? It's us, Miguel and Marco.” 

 

But their great grandmother showed no signs of recognition, or even that she’d heard him at all. Miguel gulped and tried again, a little louder this time, desperation creeping into his voice. 

 

“We saw your papa. Remember? Papa? Please --” He choked, tears once more welling in his eyes. “ If you forget him he'll be gone  _ forever!” _

 

But there was still no sign that Mama Coco even knew Miguel or Marco or anyone was there. And now Papa was banging on the door as well, calling for them to open it. Miguel looked from the door to Mama Coco to Marco in desperation. 

 

But Marco wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never been quite sure how to handle the moments when Mama Coco slipped away from them. And this--this was the worst he’d ever seen her. She almost seemed as if she herself was about to disappear, just like Papa Hector. Miguel was always better with her when she was like this. He’d never really known a Mama Coco who’d been able to remember things clearly. But Marco had. He remembered how she’d been when he was young, how she would laugh and tell stories, and sing when it was only her and him and then Miguel. And seeing her like this--it made him want to turn away, so that he didn’t have to see just how lost she really was. 

 

But he couldn’t do that. He had to do something. _ Anything _ . He had to try, for Papa Hector, for Miguel, for Mama Coco herself.

 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he picked up the guitar from the bed, holding it out to her as he knelt next to Miguel. “Here -- this was his guitar, right? He used to play it to you?”

 

He slipped the band over his shoulders, positioning the guitar so that he could strum it, maybe hearing it play a little would do  _ something _ \--and stopped. Hundreds of images of Ernesto De la Cruz-- _ his  _ great-great grandfather--holding  _ Papa Hector’s _ guitar,  _ playing _ Papa Hector’s guitar--the guitar he’d taken from his best friend who he’d  _ murdered-- _ flashed across Marco’s mind. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and his hand dropped from the guitar’s neck. He couldn’t play this guitar…he wasn’t sure he could play  _ any  _ guitar again…

 

Miguel didn’t seem to have noticed his brother’s hesitation however. He’d pulled out the torn photo of Mama Coco and her parents, and was gesturing desperately between the guitar in the picture being held by the faceless Hector to the one in Marco’s hands.

 

“See, there he is. Papa? Remember?  _ Papa _ ?” 

 

Miguel’s shoulders where shaking again, and Marco felt his own eyes burning with tears. Outside the pounding and the yelling continued, but neither of the brothers seemed to hear it anymore then Mama Coco did.  They were failing, she didn’t remember. It might already be to late…

 

“ _ Please  _ Mama Coco.” Marco pleaded, placing his free hand on one of her old, withered ones. “Please, don’t forget him!”

 

Mama Coco only looked at the wall, her face sad and utterly empty. 

 

Then the door flew open, and the whole of the Rivera family spilled into the tiny room, forcing Marco and Miguel to their feet, Marco still clutching the guitar with one hand, and pulling Miguel close with the other. He wasn’t sure what the family was going to say, but he didn’t think it was going to be good. 

 

Sure enough, Mama Elena rushed past them to Mama Coco, looking horrified.

“What are you  _ doing  _ to that poor woman?” She cried as she came to her mother’s side, shushing and patting at Mama Coco as though she’d just been put through a terrible ordeal.

 

“What’s gotten into you two?!” Papa exclaimed, coming forward through the crowd, looking just as stern as he had the night before. 

 

Marco’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. They were too late. There was no way they would be able to get Mama Coco to remember Papa Hector now, not with the full force of the Rivera Family trying to keep any mention of “that musico” from being uttered. 

 

Images of Papa Hector fading away just like Chicharron floated in front of his eyes, and Marco had to squeeze them shut to keep the tears from pouring over. They’d failed.  _ He’d  _ failed. Hector was never going to get home, and it was his fault, just like he’d said in the cenote...just like it had been his great-great grandfather’s fault that he’d never gotten home in the first place.

 

Papa seemed to have noticed Marco and Miguel’s distress however, and his face softened as he reached out towards both his sons. Miguel accepted the embrace, but Marco held back, holding the guitar like a lifeline against the storm that was happening inside of him.

 

“I thought I’d lost you both.” Papa whispered, holding Miguel close and looking out towards Marco with worried eyes as the boy continued to hold back. 

 

“I’m sorry Papa.” Miguel murmured as he pulled back from his father’s embrace. Papa nodded, glancing once more at Marco, who turned his head shamefully down towards his feet as Mama came to stand beside Papa. He’d said such a horrible thing to them both, done things tonight that went against so much that they’d taught him. He didn’t know what to say--Sorry seemed so  _ inadequate  _ next to what he’d gotten himself and Miguel into…what he’d planned to do...

 

“We're all together now, that's what matters. “ Mama said softly, embracing Miguel as well.

 

“Not _ all  _ of us…” Marco heard Miguel whisper, and he had to turn away entirely, leaning into the corner of the room to keep himself from breaking down right then and there.

 

_ I really am just as bad as he is. _

 

Mama Elena had finished soothing the motionless Mama Coco by now, and her ire turned itself back to the two brothers; Miguel staring listlessly at Mama Coco from his parents embrace with tears dripping down his cheeks, Marco with his face still turned to the wall, hunched over the guitar, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

 

“Ninos!” She demanded, “You apologize to your Mama Coco!”

 

Marco heard Miguel shuffle forward, his voice still quavering with tears as he spoke. “Mama Coco…” He began, then stopped. Marco could feel his brother’s eyes on his back, could feel everyone’s eyes on him, waiting for him to turn around. But he couldn't. He couldn’t face them, not after everything. He curled up into himself a little more, jostling the guitar so that it let out a faint twang that seemed to echo around the room like a tangible thing, drifting back over the silently waiting Riveras.

 

“Well, apologize!” Mama Elena burst out as the note died away. Miguel remained silent a moment longer, as though thinking over his words very carefully. 

 

“Mama Coco…” Miguel began again, and his voice sounded slightly stronger this time, as though he’d come to a determination. “Your papa...he--he wanted you to have this.”

 

And taking a small breath, Miguel began to sing. 

 

“ _ Remember me, though I have to say goodbye, remember me. Don’t let it make you cry… _ ”

 

His voice was quiet, but strong. And the emotion in it, couple with the unexpectedness, made Marco turn without meaning to, faint lines of tears marking his face for all to see. But he didn’t care--all his attention was on Miguel, who kept right on singing, ignoring the astonished stares of his family. His gaze flickered briefly to Marco, a quick, pleading look that seemed to pierce right through his heart. 

 

_ Please help me _ . It seemed to say.  _ I need you. _

 

And with trembling hands, and shaking fingers, Marco began to play .

 

The notes poured out slowly but clearly, joining with Miguel’s voice as effortless as sunlight passing through water. Marco took a cautious step forward as he played, then another and another, until he too was once more kneeling at Mama Coco’s side. 

 

“ _ For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart, I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart… _ ”

 

Mama Elena made a sudden  move forward, reaching for the guitar, her eyes wide, but to Marco’s amazement,  _ Papa _ held her back. 

 

“Look…” Mama whispered, and all eyes turned to Mama Coco...who was slowly, slowly, beginning to smile.

 

“ _ Remember me… _ ” Marco sang softly, joining his voice with Miguel as the wonder of what was happening swept over him, his fingers strumming the notes with new steadiness. “ _ Though I have to travel far, remember me… _ ”

 

“ _ Each time you hear a sad guitar… _ ” 

 

A gasp ran through the assembled Riveras as  _ Mama Coco’s _ voice joined those of her grandsons, Marco’s rich but quiet, Miguel youthful but clear, her’s course but full of joy. 

 

“ _ Know that I’m with you the only way that I can be. Until you’re in my arms again...Remember me... _ ”

 

As the last notes of the song faded away Mama Coco’s face lit up in a way that Marco hadn’t seen in years, a young soul seemed to be looking out at them all from behind the ancient face. She looked over towards the rest of the family, and Marco, following her gaze, saw that each of them were crying tears of their own. 

 

“Elena? What's wrong, mija?” Mama Coco asked, looking over at her daughter with concern as she saw Mama Elena’s tears.

 

“Nothing Mama.” Mama Elena said, brushing at her cheeks.  “Nothing at all.”

 

Reassured, Mama Coco turned back to Miguel and Marco, “My papa used to sing me that song” she said, with a warm, tender smile.

 

“He  _ loved _ you, Mama Coco.” Miguel said quickly, brushing away tears of his own. “Your papa loved you so much.”

 

Mama Coco’s smile seemed to light the whole room as she heard those words, words she must have been waiting to hear all her life.  She reached out and brushed a hand against Miguel’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. Then, her hands shaking, she turned and opened a draw in her nightstand, pulling out an old bound notebook.

 

“I kept... his letters…” She said softly, looking over the contents of the notebook, “ Poems he wrote me... and…”

 

She held out a scrap of torn paper towards the boys. Eyes wide, they reached for it together, each taking a corner, and Marco felt his heart leap into his throat as he saw what it was.

 

_ It was Papa Hector’s face. _

 

With a trembling hand, Miguel took the ofrenda photo from his pocket, and held it up to the torn scrap. They fit together perfectly, and for the first time in almost a century, the family in the photo was together again.

 

“Papa was a musician.” Mama Coco said with pride, her voice steadier then Marco had heard it in ages. Just like it had been when he was young and she’d tell him bedtime stories.  Only this story was better, because it was true, and it was her’s. “When I was a little girl, he and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs... “

 

And huddled together in the tiny room, the Rivera family listened as Mama Coco told them all about her Papa, the musician. No one protested, no one spoke out. They just listened with reverent awe as Mama Coco came back to them, sharing the memories that she’d had to lock away for so long.  And for the first time in a long time, Marco felt that things were finally going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but boy did it take a long time to feel like I'd gotten it right. Hope you all enjoyed it! There'll be about two more chapters after this one, wrapping some things up, so thank you again for your support :)


	16. Se Apiade De Mi Corazón

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! Here we go! This is the second to last chapter! I can't believe how far this fic has come, I truly never imagined the wonderful amount of support this story would receive, it's been a blast writing it and sharing it with you all. Please leave a like or a comment, and thank you again for your time and support!

Change came rapidly to La Zapatería de la Familia Rivera  over the next year.

 

After the miracle--and everyone agreed that’s what it was--with Mama Coco, music was slowly, but surely allowed back into the Rivera home. Though Mama Elena had to be forewarned and still bristled whenever she came upon any unexpectedly. The younger adults were more accommodating, especially Mama and Tia Carmen. Once the ban was lifted, they wasted almost no time in introducing the children to all of their favorite artists they’d listened to growing up. There was a full straight week of Selena--after the boys had finished being grounded for running off of course.

 

Marco and Miguel, having raised themselves pretty exclusively on a  diet of early century mariachi music, felt almost overwhelmed by the huge buffet of styles now set freely at their fingertips. 

 

Miguel listened to every song in any genre he could find that his parents deemed age appropriate, and spent all of his allowance on buying reams of sheet music and learning how to read it. Abel was cautious about the whole thing--right up until Papa Franco had shown him  Norteno. Then they couldn't get him to stop. He saved up for a month to buy an accordion, and his early days of practicing where almost enough to make the family reinstate the ban. Finally they managed to find him a teacher (who had him practice at their home) and he rapidly improved after that. The twins danced to anything that had a beat. And Rosa, who’d always reminded the adults of a miniature Tia Victoria, and who had eyed all this new music with an air of distrust, had shocked everyone by coming down to breakfast one morning saying that she’d signed herself up for violin lessons at the school.

 

But to everyone’s surprise, Marco seemed to be keeping his distance from it all. He listened to anything anyone had to show him, and was encouraging to his cousins and Miguel as they worked on learning their instruments. But that was as far as his interest seems to go. 

 

That wasn’t the only problem.

 

The authorities came looking for the guitar fairly quickly. Santa Cecilia was a small town, and it didn’t take them long to track it to the Rivera house. Marco and Miguel had hidden with it up in the Cueva de Zorro--gutted of all De la Cruz memorabilia--while Papa, Tio Berto and Papa Franco talked with the police. Mama Elena had wanted to talk to them as well, but the family had all agreed they had enough to worry about without her being arrested for assaulting an officer with a chancla. 

 

It felt like Marco and Miguel had to wait an eternity before Papa came up to find them.

 

“They’re going to let us keep the guitar.” He said as he squeezed into the crawlspace, and the boys breathed a sigh of relief. More than being in trouble, they had been dreading having to send Papa Hector’s guitar back to hang over De la Cruz’s crypt. 

 

“For now anyway.” Papa clarified as he sat next to them, a very serious look on his face. “We showed them the picture, and the letters, and so they admit we have a claim on the guitar. But we have to pay for the broken window, and there’s going to be hearing about the property rights, to the guitar  _ and _ the songs.” He ran a hand across his face with a deep sigh. “I’m afraid that if we push this, it could get ugly. This town  _ runs  _ off of De la Cruz. If we tarnish that--”

 

“ It’s the right thing to do.” Marco said firmly, without a hint of hesitation. “De la Cruz can’t get away with m...making everyone think he wrote those songs.” 

 

“Papa Hector deserves to be remembered.” Miguel agreed, clutching at the guitar protectively.  “ _ Way _ more than De la Cruz does.”

 

Papa looked at them both for a long moment, an odd expression on his face. “What happened to you two? This place used to be filled with De la Cruz, you even thought he was--”

 

“Well we were wrong weren’t we?” Marco said quickly, with a nonchalant shrug. “I told you, we talked it over and realized...realized there had to be some other explanation for the guitar. I mean, De  la Cruz and _Mama_ _Imelda_? I think you'd have better luck trying to get a cat and a canary together, don't you think?”

 

They hadn’t told anyone about what had happened. They had been in enough trouble as it was without trying to bring in stories of talking skeletons and murder confessions made by dead men into the mix. The only person they  _ had  _ told had been Mama Coco. They felt she was owed  that, after having gone so long without knowing what had happened to her papa. 

 

“He’s been trying to come home to you for years and years.” Miguel explained after they told her the story of their adventure.

 

“And now that he has a picture, he can.” Marco added, gesturing to the newly reunited photo that sat on Mama Coco’s nightstand.

 

And Mama Coco smiled even brighter at the thought of her papa finally coming 

home. 

 

***

 

Sure enough, there had been backlash. Mostly from the older people of the town, those whose livelihoods were based in De la Cruz tourism. Old Rodrigo, who’s given Marco and Miguel their first price of Dr la Cruz merchandise had passed on a few years back, so chances where  _ he _ knew the truth by now, but his associates only knew that their businesses were under fire.

 

The adults took the brunt of the backlash, filtering threatening letters and chasing off hecklers with Mama Elena’s chanclas. Luckily enough not  _ too _ many of the kids of the town cared that much about the reputation of someone who’s died almost a century before they'd been born, so the  Rivera Children were relatively safe. At any rate, years of being “the weird music hating Riveras” had well equipped them to deal with heckling. Besides, Abel was too big to mess with, and Rosa was too sassy. Anyone who tried to mess with Miguel had Marco  to deal with, as Leon Valdez found out to the detriment of his nose one day as they were all coming home from school. That had earned Marco a week of detention from the school, a grounding from his parents, and a slap on the back from Papa Franco. Benny and Manny, being four, were immune to it all.

 

Amidst all the trouble,  the family prepared for the hearing, compiling documents and consulting with lawyers. And nobody was more  intense in aiding the preparations then Marco. Whatever needed to be done, he could be found at the forefront of it. He searched and indexed and studied and wrote so much and so often that sometimes he forgot to eat. Right up until Mama Elena took a chancla to his pantseat and forced him to eat three bowls of pozole while  she watched.

 

“Marco...are you ok?” Miguel asked one night as his brother stumbled into their room, bleary eyed from staring at old documents for hours until Papa had ordered him to stop and go to bed. 

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine…” Marco murmured as he began pulling off his shoes. “Why wouldn't I be? I found a lot of good stuff today, I think we really stand a good chance of winning this thing.”

 

“That's good…” Miguel said slowly, twisting at the pegs of his new guitar. Mama and Papa had bought it for him for Christmas,  which had been the loudest the Riveras had ever thrown now that music was allowed. The police had even shown up to tell them to keep it down, and had been sent away with platefuls of food for their troubles as the party continued just as loudly as before.

 

“Hey,” Miguel said brightly as Marco flopped onto his bed “ I learned a new song today! It's really good! Do you--do you want to practice with me?”

 

Marco, his face turned away from Miguel, was silent for a long moment. Then he flipped over, and with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes said, “I’m pretty tired Miguel, maybe next time. Why don’t you just show me what you’ve for for right now, ok?”

 

“...ok…”  Miguel repeated, beginning to slowly strum away at the guitar. But his heart didn't seem to be all the way in it anymore. And Marco had turned away again, staring at the wall as the dark room slowly filled with the sad thrum of the song.

 

***

 

Two weeks before the hearing took place, Luisa went into labour. Enrique was a nervous wreck the entire time, so Tio Berto to had to drive them both to the hospital. Marco and Miguel were pulled out of school and driven to the hospital by Abel, with Rosa squished in between them. She had insisted on coming along because Benny and Manny were  driving her crazy trying to get her to play “having a baby” with all of their stuffed animals. The rest of the family stayed behind to throw together a Congratulations party for Luisa and the baby, more than happy to have something to distract them from the stress they’d been under.

 

The birth went easily, despite all of Papa's worries, and soon Marco and Miguel were ushered into the room to see their new sister, leaving an annoyed looking Rosa to wait her turn with Abel, who after having been through five babies was much more interested in the soccer  game being shown in the waiting room.

 

“We’ve  named her Socorro.” Mama said as she helped an awestruck Miguel cradled the tiny head. “I think Mama Coco will like that, don’t you?” 

 

Mama Coco was overjoyed to meet her namesake. The highlight of the party was watching Mama Coco hold little Socorro while rocking in her chair, singing Remember Me as the family listened, spellbound.

 

“So how’s it feel not to be the baby anymore?” Marco asked later when he and Miguel had gone to bed. “Think you’re ready to be a big brother?”

 

“Well, I've had a pretty great example, so I think so.” Miguel answered with a grin. 

 

Marco ducked his head at the compliment.

 

“ Well, not  _ that _ great.”

 

He laughed as he said it, but Miguel couldn't help but think that the laugh didn't sound very real...

 

***

 

They won the hearing. The family now officially owned the guitar, and proceedings were under way to get the rights to all of Papa Hector’s songs back. But what should have been a happy occasion was overshadowed when Mama Coco passed away only two days after the verdict was reached. 

 

It was a lovely service. Miguel had asked if he could play Mama Coco ’s song for her one last time, and Mama Elena had willingly given her consent with tears in her eyes. Everyone  cried freely as he played, but the song seemed to remind them that though Mama Coco was gone from their part of the family, she was back with another.

 

“It’s--its ok.” Marco said later as he held Miguel, who’d snuck up to the crawlspace after they’d returned home from the cemetery. The tears the boy had held back while he played Remember Me were flowing freely now. Marco's  own tears were still drying on his cheeks.

 

“ It’s all gonna be ok. Papa Hector will finally be able to give her that hug.” 

 

“I know.” Miguel said with a sniffle, wiping  at his eyes. “I just miss her.”

 

“Me too hermanito…” Marco murmured, holding his brother a little tighter.

 

“But at least now...now we know we’ll see her again, right ? And we’re gonna tell Socorro all about her, and Papa Hector and Mama Imelda and everybody.”

 

“Yeah.” Miguel agreed, smiling slightly at the thought. “And we can sing her Remember Me, just like Papa Hector did for Mama Coco.”

 

“I think they’d both like that.” Marco said, smiling back.

 

They sat in silence for a long moment, taking in the peacefulness of the attic. Then, biting his lip as he spoke, because he thought he might already know answer, Miguel asked, “Marco, could...could you sing me Luna Lunera?”

 

There was another moment of silence, much heavier than the last one.

 

“I...I don't feel much like singing right now…” Marco said finally, fiddling with the end of his tie. “Maybe a bit later.” 

 

Miguel just nodded, looking away from his brother to hide his disappointment--and his worry. 

 

Because the truth was, Marco hadn't sung  _ anything _ since they’d sung to Mama Coco on that miraculous morning. The rest of the family, who hadn't grown up listening to Marco sing his heart out every chance he got, hadn't really noticed. But Miguel did. But every time he tried to bring it up Marco just brushed him off with a laugh or a quip, like it was something he didn't need to worry about. But Miguel did  _ worry _ . 

 

Every night that Marco stumbled into bed after trying to help the adults with the case until they told him to rest he worried. And every morning he woke to find Marco’s bed empty because he’d woken up at the crack of dawn to  _ keep _ working he worried.

 

He worried that Marco’s devotion to bringing down De la Cruz was making him sick, with all the meals he skipped  and the sleep he lost. He was already getting dark circles under his eyes, and more then once Miguel had heard him murmuring fitfully in his sleep. 

 

And most of all, Miguel worried that Marco was never going to sing ever again.

 

***

Three months after Mama Coco’s funeral, and three weeks before the second hearing scheduled to get back the rights to Papa Hector's  songs, Luisa, coming down for a drink of water, found Marco asleep at the kitchen table, slumped over in his seat, a pen still clutched tightly in his hands. The look on his face was tense, as though he was trying  to study even in his sleep. 

 

Support for the Rivera’s efforts had been growing as more and more evidence was brought to light, even some of their harsher neighbors had begun to soften. But Marco was still working himself to the bone to help them prepare.

 

Gently, she  reached out and shook his shoulder. Marco jolted awake with a gasp, looking around wildly at the kitchen as though surprised to find himself there. 

 

“I thought your papa told you to go to bed three hours ago.” She scolded gently, taking a seat at the table herself.

 

Marco ran a hand over his face and through his hair as he blinked awake. “He did, but I couldn't sleep so I got back up to work on this.”

 

“ You know I wish you showed  this much dedication to your schoolwork.” Luisa teased, before letting her tone become more serious. “Why  _ is _ this so important to you Mijo?”

 

Marco shrugged, looking back down at his notes. “It's the right thing to do. Making sure Papa Hector gets remembered. Making sure De  la Cruz gets what he deserves.”

 

There was a fierceness to that final part that worried Luisa. Truthfully, a lot of things about Marco’s behavior recently worried her. He’d always been an excellent worker in the shop, but now it seemed that he spent all of his time there, whatever time  wasn't spent helping the family with Papa Hector's case. He rarely went out with his friends anymore, and despite the lifting of the ban, he hadn't engaged in that much music. And she knew he was talented, after hearing him sing to Mama Coco...and the way he talked so vehemently about De la Cruz…

 

“Marco, I--I think there’s something I should tell you.. about De la Cruz…” Luisa began, unsure of how to phrase what  she felt she needed to say.

 

Marco stiffened slightly, but said nothing, so she went on. “You see… De la Cruz...De la Cruz is--”

 

“My great-great grandfather?” Marco finished, with weary edge to his voice.

 

Luisa blinked, startled. “How-how did you know that?”

 

“She said so.” Marco muttered, running another hand over his face, as though trying to hide behind it.

 

“Who?” Luisa asked, feeling completely lost. Who could have possibly known about that? Gabi? She doubted her prima even remembered that conversation, it was so long ago.

 

“Ma--my...my mother.” Marco said softly, looking away from her once more.

 

Luisa was lost for words. His  _ mother _ ? But...Marco had been so young when he’d been adopted, only three...but then, Mama Coco had been three when her papa left, and she remembered so much…

 

“Is...is that why you've been so--so upset about this?” Luisa finally asked, reaching  out to take her son’s hand in hers. He was so big now, she thought with wonder. Once she'd been able to hold both his hands in hers, now she could barely cup one.

 

Slowly, still not looking at her, Marco nodded, and Luisa felt her heart breaking for him. “Oh mijo.” She said softly, standing up so that she could hug her son. “ None of what happened is your fault, you don’t have to feel guilty about any of this.”

 

“But...but I wanted to be just like him.” Marco whispered, leaning into his mother, his eyes squeezed shut. “I wanted to sing and act and--”

 

“And just because some chorizo who stole another man’s songs sang and acted means the whole business is tainted?” Luisa asked, a little sharper then she meant to. De la Cruz kept finding new ways to hurt her family it seemed, even after death.

 

But to her surprise, Marco started  _ laughing _ . Small, choking gasped, as if he were trying to keep them held back.

 

“Chor-- _ chorizo _ !” he sputtered, leaning away from a confused Luisa to hold at his sides.  “Oh! It’s--it’s too perfect!”

 

Luisa waited for a few moments for Marco to calm down from what was to him obviously something very funny before asking her next question.

 

“Marco...have you not been singing because you think it’ll make you like De la Cruz?”

 

The way Marco’s face fell so quickly was all Luisa needed to know. “Marco.” She said firmly, cupping his face in her hands. “Let me tell you right now, even if you were the spitting image of the man, you could  _ never _ be like him.”

 

“How do you know?” Marco asked, and the misery in his voice broke her heart even more.

 

“Because I know my son. I know that when it comes down to it, you know what the right choices to make are. It's  _ choices _ that matter Marco, not what we look like or what skills we have. It's how you choose to treat  _ people _ , whether you think of them or only yourself, that ultimately decides what kind of person  _ you _ are.”

 

She ran hand through his hair, smiling at him. “And let me tell you something, I think any boy who spends as much time and energy on his family as  _ you _ have is going to turn out alright.” 

 

A ghost of a smile crossed Marco's  face, and he whispered, “ Thanks...I’m sorry I worried you.”

 

Luisa nodded in reply, she knew he was apologizing for more than just the past few months.

 

“And for what it’s worth... _ I’m _ sorry that we made it so difficult for you.” Luisa  said softly, biting at her lip. “ For you and Miguel both. Neither of you should have felt so isolated...your papa and I have been  talking about this alot…we haven't done as well as  _ we _ should in thinking of you ninos--” 

 

“You and Papa are great parents!”  Marco cut in defensively, but Luisa waved the remark aside, patting his hand as she went on.

 

“ We’ve tried our best, but we’ve made mistakes. Especially me, I--I was never really comfortable with the ban, but I didn't want to rock the boat either. Talking with everyone,  I think a lot of us felt the same way, without realising it. We all thought everyone else was fine with it.” 

 

A few tears fell from Lisa’s eyes as she looked at her son, thinking of all the years he and Miguel had spent feeling like they couldn't share their whole lives with their family.

 

“We thought  _ you _ were fine with it… ”

 

Marco shrugged awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “Well, that's probably my fault. I figured that if I acted like I was fine with it, kept everything secret long enough--well, I’m not sure  _ what _ I was thinking. Everything kind of exploded as it was...it probably would have been worse the longer I lied to you all about how I really felt…”

 

“We'll  _ all _ work on being more open with each other.” Luisa promised, giving Marco's  hand a squeeze.

 

“Maybe we won't always agree with you, or Miguel, or Socorro--and you’ll all very likely disagree with us about  _ something _ along the way-- but we’ll  _ always _ love all of you, whether you make shoes or songs or sofrito,” She finished with a small laugh,  leaning forward and planting a kiss on Marco’s forehead. 

 

And eyes wet, but with a smile on his face, Marco nodded. “Thanks mama...I feel alot better now,” he whispered.

 

Luisa smiled back at him, “That’s what mamas are for mijo.” she said softly, turning toward the sink to finally get that glass of water she'd come for.  But then a thought struck her, making her pause, and turn back around.

 

“Marco...what else do you remember of...of your mother?”

 

Marco shrugged again. “Not much.” He admitted. “ I can't really even remember what she looked like, I mean, we’ve never had a picture of her...I remember a song she used to sing to me…”

 

He looked away once more, lost in thought. “What...what happened to her?”  He asked finally, a catch in his voice.

 

Luisa sighed deeply, sitting back down. She should have had this conversation years ago. She just never seems to be able to find the right time.

 

“I only met her a couple of times before we adopted you.” She said softly, her mind wandering back through the years.

 

“She was only eighteen when she had you. I don't know what happened to...to the man. He was long gone by the time you were born. Her parents were furious, they kicked her out soon after she told them. She wanted to keep you though.” 

 

Luisa felt that is was important for Marco to know that.

 

“She did well for a few years, but...when you were three...she got sick. Very sick. I don't know if it was cancer or something else but...but she knew she was dying...and she wanted to make sure you were taken care of...she loved you so much…”

There were tears falling down both their faces now, and Marco’s hand was wrapped around her's.

 

“So...she’s gone.”

 

“Yes.” Luisa said softly, reaching out to wipe away a tear on Marco’s face. “I’m sorry.”

 

Marco just nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Marco spoke again.

 

“Mama...if-if it would be ok with you...do you think we could try and find a photo of her ? I mean,  _ you're _ my mama but..”

 

“She's your mother.” Luisa finished. 

 

Marco nodded, “And I want to remember her.”

 

“Yes...I think we could do that.” 

 

And the two shared a long embrace in the silence of the kitchen.

 

***

Enrique woke up to the sound of Socorro crying. This was a frequent occurrence, especially at three in the morning, so he only groaned  slightly as he got up, being careful not to wake Luisa.

 

But to his surprise, Luisa’s half of the bed was already empty. He looked over towards the crib, and saw her sitting in the rocking chair. But Socorro wasn't in her arms. Instead, the baby was being held by Marco, as Luisa looked on, gazing at both of them tenderly. 

 

And Marco was singing.

  
“ _ Luna Lunera, cascabelera. Ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera. Dile que me muero, que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got a chance to put in the chorizo joke! hehehe.
> 
> Also, I've finally got a Tumblr! the link is https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/ I've started posting some artwork I made for Luna Lunera with more to come, and I'm more then willing to take asks about the story or just talk Coco with you guys! 
> 
> I will be out of state in a couple of days, but I should be back in time to post the final chapter next Tuesday, so see you all then!


	17. With Every Beat of My Proud Corazon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it...

 

 

Marco leaned against the doorway of the ofrenda room, smiling as he watched Miguel holding Socorro, explaining who everyone was one by one. 

 

“And there's Tía Rosita... and your Tía Victoria... and those two are Oscar and Felipe.”

 

Socorro--who he still couldn’t believe was this big now-- gurgled happily, reaching out towards the pictures that lined the ofrenda. It looked the same as it did every year, loaded with offerings and candles and flowers. But this year there were three noticeable differences.  

 

The first was that the photo on the top had been mended, with Papa Hector smiling down at them from his place at Mama Imelda and baby Coco’s side.

 

The next was the photo of Mama Coco as they’d all known her, revenantly placed by a misty eyed Mama Elena. 

 

And the last…

 

On the left of Mama Coco’s photo was a polaroid of a young girl, maybe about twenty, with short wavy hair and golden eyes, smiling up at the world like she couldn’t wait to take it on, a gold-eyed baby held in her arms. 

 

“These aren't just old pictures,” Miguel went on, explaining to Socorro, “They’re our family, and they’re counting on us to remember them.”

 

The woman they’d tracked down in Oaxaca, Gloria, had given Marco many pictures of his mother, mostly ones they’d taken together as young girls. But this was the one that he liked best. It was the one where she looked the healthiest, and the happiest. It was how he wanted to remember her.

 

Marco took in the photos a moment longer, his mind wandering back over the year, over the changes that had taken place, both in his family, and in himself. Things he’d once never have thought possible had happened to him in more way than one. And the next year would likely hold more--though hopefully not of the getting cursed variety. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. He’d settle for small miracles now, like the one that was going to take place tonight.

 

“Hey hermanito.” He said with a smile, coming up to stand by Miguel’s side. “It’s almost time, we better get out there.”

 

***

 

The courtyard of the Rivera hacienda had been done up and decorated like never before in honor of the holiday--and of the special event taking place that night. 

 

Because tonight the Rivera children were giving their very first concert together, playing a song written by Miguel himself, with parts for all of them.

 

They’d been working at it for months, all by themselves,  trying to keep the song a surprise for the adults. It hadn’t been an easy task either. All the adults had suddenly begun remembering things they’d left or forgotten in the rooms the children tried to practice in--even Mama Elena.     

 

 Finally they’d taken to  practicing in empty classrooms after school or in the woods outside Santa Cecilia just to get away from all the prying eyes.

 

“This is ridiculous!” Rosa had complained once as they trekked along a dry creek bed, cradling her violin case close to her chest as if expecting the trees around them to try and grab it from her.  “I feel like an outlaw!”

 

“Now you know how  _ we _ felt.” Miguel had said with a laugh ,stepping carefully from boulder to boulder. 

 

“Yeah _ Rositita _ ,” Marco smirked as he carried Abel’s accordion, “Consider it a bonding experience.”

 

His use of her hated nickname had quickly lead the two into a battle of snipping, with Miguel trying to keep the peace, while Abel, who’d been chosen to carry the guitars on that particular trip, and was  _ not  _ enjoying it, muttered obliviously, “I’m just glad none of us decided to start playing the  _ cello _ .”  

 

But despite prying parents and frayed nerves, the Rivera cousins were finally ready.

 

“Excited?” Marco asked as he and his siblings looked around at the decorations.

 

“ _ Por supuesto _ !” Miguel grinned, practically bouncing as he walked. “I just gotta go grab the guitar! I’ll be right back!” 

 

And handing Socorro off to Marco, he raced towards the newest addition to the Rivera home, the Hector Rivera Museum (tours weekdays from 9 to 5 ) where all of the memorabilia they had of Papa Hector was housed. 

 

Miguel had practiced mostly on his own guitar, but tonight--tonight he was playing Papa Hector’s.

 

Marco still felt a little weird each time he looked at that guitar. And it wasn’t just because of what his ancestor had done to get hold of it. It wasn’t even that the guitar had cursed them. No, it was the fact that he was sure that it had been the  _ guitar _ that had brought him back from the brink of death. Maybe it had taken pity on him, maybe it had felt that his efforts that night for Hector and Miguel had made up for what De la Cruz did...as much as a guitar could feel anything anyway. He didn’t try to dwell on it too much. But whatever had happened, he was grateful. Grateful to be alive--and with his family. 

 

Besides, he had his own guitar now, a gift for his seventeenth birthday last month. And speaking of which, he better go make sure that Manny and Benny hadn’t gotten their hands on it again.

 

“Mama!” He called as he entered the kitchen. “Can you take Socorro for a minute? I gotta go tune my--”

 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw what was laying across the kitchen table. Two beautiful, brand new, expertly tailored charro suits, complete with sombreros. One red, one blue, and just the right sizes for him and Miguel.

 

“Do you like them?” Papa asked with a smile, coming up behind Marco and clapping him proudly on the shoulder. 

 

“They’re... _ wow _ …” 

 

“Consider this  _ our  _ surprise for you two.” Mama said, picking up Socorro and kissing him on the cheek. 

 

Marco didn’t know what to say. He ran his hand over the material of his suit, too touched to do anything but stare. To think, one year ago he’d had to hid out in an increasingly small attic to keep his parents from finding out about his music. And now...

 

“Thank you” he whispered, looking up at his parents. His eyes felt oddly hot, and he quickly looked back down at the suits to keep them from seeing the sheen of tears. He thought Mama might have noticed anyway, but he was saved from the  embarrassment by Miguel, who came bounding into the kitchen, Papa Hector’s guitar in his hands and a grin on his face.

 

“Ok I’m ready--- _ Woah! _ ” 

 

The boy ran quickly over the table and picked up the red jacket, holding it up to his chest, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Que chido, eh hermanito?” Marco said brightly, tossing his own sombrero onto his head with a flip and pulling it down to a jaunty angle.

 

“I’ll say!” Miguel answered, putting on his own. He looked over at Marco with a proud grin, which suddenly turned into a smirk.

 

“What?” Marco asked, lifting the brim of his hat back to its normal position.

 

“Oh, nothing.” Miguel said, his voice wavering a little, as if he was trying to hold back a laugh. “I was just thinking… blue really  _ does _ bring out your eyes.”

 

Marco gave Miguel a whack with his sombrero as the younger boy finally gave into his laugher, their parents looking on in bemused confusion.

 

***

Hector’s heart had never felt so full.

 

The golden glow that surrounded the station seemed to match the feelings inside him. The last year had been nothing short of a miracle. Each day after the events of last Dia de Los Muertos had seemed like a dream come true, that only got better the longer it went on.

 

His bones were whiter and stronger now then they’d been in decades. Marco and Miguel had been busy on the other side making sure he was remembered, and not just by the family. Most of the city now knew and accepted his role as the real writer of De la Cruz’s songs, but new arrivals brought new that the Land of the Living was slowly coming to terms with the revelation as well.

 

De la Cruz had been locked away, given the maximum sentence the Land of the Dead had for murderers who’d been unconvicted in life. His lawyers were working desperately to find someway out of it, but nobody thought they stood much of a chance. It’s hard to beat a taped confession broadcast in front of thousands of people, especially when the confession was made while trying to murder somebody else.

 

Slowly but surely, he and Imelda had managed to patch things back together. ( It helped that she now had De la Cruz to vent her decades of anger on instead of him.) Things weren’t perfect of course. He was still a dreamer with his head in the clouds, and she could still be stubborn to a fault. But they’d been able to overcome those differences once in life, doing so again in death wasn’t too hard.

 

Not to mention they were both still head over heels for each other, as everybody who spent more than fifteen minutes around them quickly found out. Each day he got to spend with Imelda was a gift and a joy. A blessing he still wasn’t sure he deserved, no matter how much his new--old--regained family assured him he did.

 

But the absolute best day of all was the day he and Imelda had been summoned to the Department of Family Reunions, and he’d finally been able to give Coco her long awaited hug. And there been a lot of hugging and kissing and crying and hugging again in the days following. And talking. He had so much to catch up on. Coco’s entire life. He’d heard so much about her growing up from Imelda and the twins, and her later life from Julio and Rosita and Victoria. But to get to talk with Coco herself, to get to hold her in his arms again---that had been the greatest blessing of all.

 

Music had returned to the Rivera home in the Land of the Dead, just as it had in the living. And the family sang and danced as if they were trying to cram all the years they’d missed doing so into one. Hector danced with Imelda, sang with Coco, traded jokes with the Twins and Julio, shared stories with Rosita, taught Victoria how to sing, and utterly failed at making shoes.

 

He couldn’t have been happier.

 

And now, now after so many years--he was finally going to cross the bridge, and he was crossing it with his family.

 

“ _ Perdoname _ …” A quiet voice, accompanied by a tap on his shoulder, cut into Hector’s thoughts, and he turned to see a young female skeleton, who looked as though she’d died around the same age as himself (although  _ decades _  later if her decidedly nineties fashion choices were any clue) bouncing nervously, clutching at a piece of paper.

 

“A-are you Hector Rivera?”  She asked breathlessly, her hazel eyes wide and shining with excitement as she nervously ran a hand through her short, wavy hair.

 

Imelda gave a distinct groan.

 

Ever since the revelation at the Sunrise Spectacular the Riveras had had to put up with all sorts of interruptions. From requests for interviews to random strangers like this one. Most were willing to respect the family’s privacy when they requested it, but a few of the more...d _ etermined _  had been subjected to Imelda’s boot--or been chased off by Pepita. And the female ones were  _ always _  determined. There seemed to be something about musicians who died tragically young that drew them like moths to a flame.

 

“I’m sorry.” Imelda said quickly, tugging Hector aside and sounding anything _  but _  sorry. “But we were just about to leave to visit our family, so we don’t have any time right now for autographs--”

“Oh no, I’m not a fan--”  The skeleton said quickly, before rapidly stuttering , “I mean-- I  _ am  _ a fan but--”

 

Hector had the feeling that the woman would have been blushing furiously at this point if she’d still had skin. And she seemed more nervous than ever as Imelda’s glare continued to bore down on her. She twisted the piece of paper awkwardly as she rambled, her words coming out in a stream.

 

“I--I didn’t mean to interrupt your visit or anything, it’s just that when they sent me the notice I was so excited I rushed over here without really thinking, and then the officer at the desk told me to find  _ you _  because I’ve never been to Santa Cecilia before since the only person who really puts up my photo is my amiga Gloria but she lives in Oaxaca so I wouldn’t know the house and since you were going there  _ anyway--” _

 

“Niña,  _ what _  are you talking about?”

 

Imelda’s question cut off the skeleton mid sentence, and she gulped loudly.

 

“I--um--well--oh  _ here _ .” She said quickly, holding the piece of paper out towards Hector and edging away ever so slightly from Imelda.

 

Hector took the paper, eyeing it questioningly.

 

And then his eyes went wide.

 

_ Estimada Srta. Fuentes: _

 

_ This notice is to inform you that a new ofrenda option as been opened to you in the town of Santa Cecilia, Oaxaca México.  The ofrenda is located in la calle Molina, número 19,  _ _ La Zapatería de la Familia Rivera. _

 

_ If you would like to visit this ofrenda please report to the Santa Cecilia Gate at Marigold Grand Central Station on Dia de los Muertos. _

 

_ Cordialmente: _

 

_ El  _ _ Departamento de Reuniones Familiares _

 

Hector looked back up at the skeleton girl, who looked back at him, anxiously and awkwardly. Imelda was still glaring, but she seemed more confused then upset now. The rest of the family was eyeing both her and Hector expectantly, waiting for one of them to finally explain what was going on.

 

“What’s your name senorita?” Coco finally asked kindly, coming up to the skeleton girl and patting her on the arm in a way that seemed to help calm her down.

 

“Simone Fuentes.” She said after taking a breath, “I--well you see I’m--well I  _ think  _ I’m your--um--”

 

“She’s Marco’s mother.”  Hector said, still staring at the young woman standing before him.

 

The entire family turned to stare at Hector, and then Simone, and then back to Hector again.

 

“How is he?”  Simone asked quickly, her nervousness returning.   “That  _ was  _ him, wasn’t it? At the Spectacular? Fighting with...with…”

  
  


Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head, as though ashamed. And Hector suddenly realised she probably was. De la Cruz was, after all, her great-grandfather. She didn’t know that  _ they  _ knew of course. But she knew.  She’d had to deal with knowing she was related to a murderer, who’d killed the man she was currently standing in front of, who’d tried to kill a little boy, who’d tried to kill her own  _ son _ . And if she was anything like the rest of the city, she’d once been a fan of the mariachi, she’d probably been proud to be related to him, no matter how legitimately. And now…

 

Now she’d had to deal with the truth all year,  all alone.

 

“I-I’m sorry…” Simone said quietly, backing away from the group. “I shouldn’t have interrupted…I’ll...I’ll go now...”

 

She turned away, ready to disappear back into the rush of people--but was stopped as Hector reached out and touched her shoulder.

 

“You know, I used to be a tour guide.” He said with a smile, “ How ‘bout a tour of Santa Cecilia?”  

 

***

 

Night had fallen, fireworks were already lighting the sky above Santa Cecilia. The Riveras were all assembled in the courtyard. Everyone’s eyes were on Miguel, dressed in his new charro suit and looking every bit the real musician.  The cousins were waiting for his signal to begin, the adults were waiting to hear what they had in store.

 

The brothers stood together on the old well, which had been boarded up to create a small stage, Rosa and Abel flanked them on either side, violin and accordion held at the ready. 

 

Miguel looked out at his family with excitement, but Marco noticed that he was clutching Papa Hector’s guitar rather tightly. He wasn’t surprised if the younger boy was a bit nervous. After all, this wasn’t just any song he was playing. It was  _ his _ song, his very first. 

 

Marco had watched Miguel working at it for weeks, from the very first night when he’d sprung awake at three am to start frantically writing the first ideas down, to last night, when he’d still been making last minute checks on Rosa’s violin. He’d worked so hard on this, and it was a  _ great  _ song. Marco knew it, Rosa and Abel knew it, and Marco wasn’t about to let Miguel himself doubt it. 

 

“Hey,” Marco whispered, stepping just a bit closer to Miguel, fiddling with his guitar strings to stall for time. “Remember what Papa Hector said? About singing to someone you love? Well, everybody here  _ already  _ loves you. So relax, and go on hermanito.” He finished, hoisting his guitar up and grinning. “I’ll be right behind you.”

 

And Miguel, grinning back, took a deep breath and began his song.

 

“ _ Say that I’m crazy, or call me a fool, but last night it seemed that I dreamed about you… _ ”

 

The words came out strong and clear, flowing smoothly as Miguel played, Papa Hector’s guitar held up proudly for all to see. The light bounced off of the golden “tooth” as Miguel strummed, in a way that made it seem like the guitar was smiling back at the listening crowd. 

 

Miguel played a little longer, letting the notes build upon each other, before nodding over in Marco’s direction. Marco nodded back, and let his own guitar join in as he sang the next line. 

 

“ _ When I opened my mouth what came out was a song, and you knew every word and we all sang along _ .”

 

Now the two boys glanced back at their cousins, who quickly joined in, their instruments flowing expertly into the strumming of the guitars. The song swelled, picking up tempo as the brothers sang out together.

 

_ “To a melody played on the strings of our souls, and rhythm that rattled us down to the bone. Our love for eachother with live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!” _

 

The adults were clapping along with the rhythm now, wide grins on their faces and more then a few tears in their eyes. As they played, Marco noticed that Dante had shown up to joined the festivities--along lo with an oddly familiar looking  alleycat. He thought he saw something else as well, a sort of flickering in the lights, as if something, or someone, was moving in front of them, like a translucent shadow. But then he blinked, and the effect was gone

 

_ “Our love for eachother with live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!”  _

 

Both boys had left the makeshift stage now, moving about the courtyard, dancing in between family members, with Rosa and Abel following, each one playing their instruments  and singing along with such passion that it felt like the music was playing  _ them  _ as they launched into the final, triumphant chorus.

 

_ “Ay mi familia! Oiga mi gente! Canten a coro! Let it be known, our love for eachother will live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!” _

 

The entire family burst into applause and cheers as the song finished off, the last notes drifting out over the rooftops and up into the firework emblazoned sky. Papa and Tio Berto hoisted Miguel up onto their shoulders, Marco stepping aside with a grin so that they could stand on top the stage, even as Tia Gloria told them all to get off because the lid wasn’t built to take that much weight. 

 

The festivities carried on into the night, the family playing games and sharing stories of their ancestors as they shared their meal. A warm feeling settled around Marco was he watched his family gathered together. He could almost imagine Papa Hector and Mama Imelda and Mama Coco right there with them. With a pleasant start, he realized that they probably  _ were _ . The contentment he felt deepened as he pondered the thought, wondering if Papa Hector was congratulating Miguel right now, if Mama Coco and Tia Victoria where embracing Mama Elena. He could almost feel the embrace himself as he imagined it.

 

In fact, he  _ did _ feel something--like someone had reached out to touch his shoulder. Marco turned to look--

 

But there was nothing there...

 

Nothing but the moonlight shining down on him.

 

Slowly, still not quite sure what he was feeling, Marco began strumming at his guitar, and with his voice barely above a whisper, he sang:

 

“ _ Luna Lunera, cascabelera. Ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera. Dile que me muero, que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón…” _

 

The warm feeling enveloped him, bringing tears to his eyes that he didn’t even try to fight, and in that moment, Marco heard something, maybe an echo, maybe a whisper, quite close to him say:

 

“ _ Oh, mi corazón... _ ” 

 

And Marco knew then, that at last  _ all  _ of his family was together once more.

  
  


The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't believe this is the last chapter, when I started this back in May I had no idea that so many people would read and like this. Writing this story has been an absolutely amazing experience, as has been interacting with all of you. I want to thank everyone of you for your thoughtful, funny and wonderful comments. Your support has meant so much to me, there have been days when getting one of your comments was enough to turn my whole day around. I feel truly blessed to have been able to share this with you. Thank you all again.
> 
> Please feel free to shoot me a question on my tumblr ( https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/ ) if you have any about my boys, there's lots of backstory and ideas for more that I've still got churning in my brain, as well as some artwork I've been dying to get out there. I wish you all the best, and look forward to sharing more stories with you! 
> 
> Until next time, God Bless, and thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm aware I've written a pretty articulate four year old year, (Four year old Miguel falls into the same trap)  
> But my excuse for this is  
> 1\. These kids are all musical prodigies of a sort so they're gonna be quick developers in some other areas too.  
> 2\. I haven't hung out with four year olds that much lately so...  
> 3\. It's a world that has talking skeletons so some suspension of disbelief is appropriate I think ;)
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment if you liked it! Thanks!
> 
> Oh, and if anyone wants to here Marco's song, there's an awesome version at this link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrbUwjCsiUo


End file.
